


Little Lion Man

by xena2210



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Discussion of non-con (not Steve/ Bucky), M/M, Slow Burn, Underage (Steve is 15 during his first sexual encounter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 79,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2022525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xena2210/pseuds/xena2210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Running away to join the circus – Steve wasn’t so green that he didn’t realise the notion was romantic; a cliché. He also knew it was possible that no one would ever believe that his running away and the circus arriving in town on the very same day was merely a coincidence."</p><p>Steve runs away from home but not to join the circus. Bucky works with the big cats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Little Lion Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4419581) by [HoneyLeo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyLeo/pseuds/HoneyLeo)



> Circus!AU set in the 1940's. 
> 
> Warnings: slight age difference (Steve is 16, Bucky is 20), animals used as entertainment (Bucky is a lion-tamer), mentions of past emotional and physical abuse, bigotry, sexism, classism and homophobia and descriptions of violence (towards animals and people).

Running away to join the circus – Steve wasn’t so green that he didn’t realise the notion was romantic; a cliché. He also knew it was possible that no one would ever believe that his running away and the circus arriving in town on the very same day was merely a coincidence. In all honesty, he had run away from home without any other intention than leaving –to escape his father’s angry words and his mother’s sad eyes.

But as he stood in the fairgrounds, head back and eyes squinted against the glare of the sun, watching as the Big Top was erected: he was in awe. He knew already, as he watched the flags atop the peak of the Big Top flutter wildly in the wind, that no-one would ever take the time to let him explain that he had only thought of the circus as a possibility once he’d stumbled off of the train and seen the posters in the station windows. 

“The show doesn’t start until tomorrow.” The voice wrenched Steve from his musing and he turned sharply to find a boy watching him with a careful, guarded look.

The boy was dressed in strange attire. He wore a billowing shirt that Steve supposed had once been white, black leggings – the kind he’d seen girls wear under their Church dresses – which hugged his lithe legs to mid way down his calves and strange slipper-like shoes on his feet. The boy’s short brown hair was almost completely hidden by the large grey beret he also wore. The boy crossed his arms over his chest and Steve realised he’d been caught staring.

“Pardon?”

“The show.” the boy began, slowly, as though he was explaining a difficult concept to a child. “It doesn’t begin until tomorrow. After the parade.” 

“Oh. Um…” Steve paused to shift the weight of his suitcase from one hand to the other, swaying awkwardly under its weight. “Actually, I wanted to know if I could meet with whoever’s in charge.” 

The boy’s eyes widened slightly before he recomposed his expression into the cool appraisal he’d regarded Steve with moments before. He looked from Steve’s face, to his bulging suitcase and back again, calculating. 

“Oh hell.” he muttered, under his breath. Then, louder: “Look kid, we don’t take on stragglers. Especially rubes who think running away to join the circus is some fantastical jour –”

“Tony!” another voice interrupted. “I hope you being charitable towards our future customers.” 

Steve turned to find another man approaching them. He was taller than Steve and older too, by the looks of it, and walked with an air of confidence that made Steve feel slightly intimidated. He pulled back his shoulders hastily, trying to make the best of his short stature. 

The taller man wore a battered leather jacket over a threadbare shirt. His dark pants were slightly looser than Tony’s but still clung to his frame and disappeared into the tops of his large black boots. His laces were undone. 

“He’s not a customer. He’s a runaway.” Tony told the taller man. “Another gilly that’s got romantic notions about joining the circus.” 

Steve felt his face flush and looked down, feeling foolish and already trying to think of where he’d go once they turned him away. Maybe coming to the big smoke had been a mistake. His father had always warned him about the inhospitality of the city. He’d been a fool to give into the temptation of seeing New York and waste his dwindling cash on the train fair. 

“Well.” the taller man said, thoughtfully. “I guess he’d better come see the boss man then.”

Steve’s head snapped up, eyes wide. The taller man was smiling though his expression was a little too sharp to be kind.

“Really?” Steve asked. 

“Sure, kid.”

“Barnes–” Tony tried to cut in but the taller man waved a hand at him, silencing his objections. 

“It’s fine Tony. I’ll take him to see the boss man myself. You got a name, kid?”

He was still wearing the same sharp smile and Steve had to swallow around the dryness in his throat before he could answer. 

“Steven.” he said. “Uh...Steve.”

“Well, Steven-Uh-Steve. You’d best follow me.”

Without further instruction, he turned and strode off towards the Big Top, whistling tunelessly. Steve looked to Tony for confirmation but the boy just scowled and adjusted his cap before starting off in the opposite direction. 

Steve watched the way Tony’s shirt billowed in his wake before remembering what he was supposed to be doing and taking off at a jog to catch up to the taller man. 

When he looked back over his shoulder, Tony was nowhere to be seen. 

*

The man did not make an effort to wait for Steve as they crossed the lot to where the train carriages were still being unloaded and Steve struggled to keep up with the taller boy’s pace, the weight of his suitcase and the weariness of his legs making him hobble awkwardly, trailing in the other man’s wake.

The man greeted almost every second person they passed by and Steve began to feel light headed from the amount of times his head whipped around to stare at something new. 

“Hey Barnes, who’s the kid?” a voice called and Steve’s gaze locked onto a woman no taller than himself, his eyes growing wide with amazement.

The woman wore an outfit similar to the other man – sans the jacket – and every inch of her bare flesh was covered in colourful swirls and designs. Steve could even see the tattoos through her white singlet. Steve had never met someone with a tattoo, let alone someone who was covered in them. As the woman drew closer, Steve could see that even that backs of her hands and fingers were tattooed. 

“Got ourselves a runaway, Christine.” the man - Barnes - replied, pausing and throwing a look back at Steve, smile still in place. “I’m taking him to see Fury.”

Christine grinned, looking Steve over. “Well,” she said after a moment. “He does like ‘em young and pretty. Good luck, kid.” 

Steve tried not to think about what Christine had meant as he continued on after Barnes.

*

They found Fury in his trailer. As they approached, Steve could hear raised voices coming from inside even over the din the elephants made as they were unloaded. Elephants. Steve ignored the angry voices in favour to staring in amazement as the two massive animals lumbered passed, herded by their keepers. Elephants.

Barnes nodded to one of the men that was herding the elephants but took no further interest in the commotion. Instead, he leant against the side of the trailer and fished a pack of matches from his vest pocket, producing a mangled looking cigar from the breast pocket of his jacket. 

His eyes flicked over to Steve as he struck his match, guarding the flame with his other hand as his cigar hung between his lips. He inhaled deeply from the lit cigar before he spoke. 

“Alright listen, kid –” he began, flicking away his used match. 

“Steve.” Steve supplied, forgetting himself momentarily. 

Barnes rolled his eyes, taking another drag and exhaling the smoke purposefully into Steve’s face. Steve coughed and Barnes smirked. 

“Okay Steve, you got an act?”

Steve frowned. “An act?”

“You know, an act. A turn. Something you’re good at that Fury can use in our here little show.” James gestured towards the semi-erect Big Top with the glowing end of his cigarette. 

Steve shook his head slowly, eyes wide and watering slightly from Barnes’ second hand smoke. 

“Huh.” Barnes inhaled again, all the while looking at Steve, inspecting his slight frame. “You’re not really built for roustabout work. Any experience with animals?”

Steve knew Barnes wasn’t asking about the pet dog he’d had when he was younger. He shook his head again. 

“Didn’t think so.” Barnes admitted. “You probably won’t get patch work either. You look a little too upper-crust to be a patch.”

“Patch work?” Steve asked. 

Barnes nodded. “A patch is someone who calms the crowd if something goes wrong with ticket-sales and alike. A smooth talker, ya know? Makes people feel good about getting jibbed.”

Steve looked down at his trousers. His mother had pressed them the night before so that he could wear them to Church the next day. Barnes’ trousers looked as though they’d never been pressed and had more than a handful of holes in them. He felt suddenly and overwhelmingly out of place. 

Barnes’ seemed to sense his discomfort. “Don’t sweat it, kid. Fury might be looking for another 24-hour-man or someone to help out in the kitchens. Mostly we get locals in to do that sorta work but we’ve had a bit of trouble with the little punks taking off and leaving us high and dry.” 

“What do you do?” Steve asked, curious. 

“Me?” Barnes laughed. “Done a little bit o’ everything really. But now I work in the menagerie - with the animals you know? The big cats mostly although now we’ve got  
Baloo as well.” He glanced over, taking in Steve’s floored expression and smirking. “Maybe you could be in my act, Stephan.” 

“Steven.” Steve corrected automatically.

Barnes’ smile got sharper. “Yeah o’ course. Well, Steve, you might just luck out. Fury might want to dress you up and keep you on as one of the rubber men.” He looked Steve up and down again. “You ever worn a dress before?”

Steve felt his eyes bulge and he looked away, cheeks flaring with heat. He couldn’t even find the words to reply, so caught off guard by the very idea of Barnes’ question. 

He was saved from further interrogation by the door of Fury’s trailer sliding open and someone almost falling in their haste to get out. Steve only saw a flash of the man’s face as he strode passed he and James without the slightest acknowledgement of their presence. 

“Fandral! Fandral!” a voice yelled and Steve whirled around to find another man still standing in the trailer, leaning out and calling after the other man. “Ah, to hell with you then.” the man said, straightening and catching sight of James.

Fury was tall, dark-skinned and imposing. Steve knew he was in charge thanks to James but even if he hadn’t, it wasn’t hard to tell from Fury’s fine clothes and the way he held himself. If Fury’s suit coat had been black instead of vibrant red, he would have almost passed as a lawyer or business man of some sort. 

“Hey boss man, what’s got Fandral’s knickers in a twist?” Barnes asked, stubbing his cigar out on the side of the trailer and tucking it back in his pocket.

Fury huffed and wiped a hand over face. “He’s crabby with me about half his band taking off. It ain’t my damn fault the little punks liked the bright lights so much.” He explained gruffly. He turned then to face them and Steve almost flinched. The left side of Fury’s face was puckered with several long-healed, yet jagged scars and an eye patch covered his left eye. Steve bit his lip and tried not to stare. 

“Who’s your friend anyway?” Fury asked, running his good eye over Steve as he fidgeted. 

Barnes smirked. “Found myself a runaway. He’s looking for work.”

Fury laughed though the sound was mirthless. “You ran away to join the circus huh kid?”

Steve shook his head, not trusting his mouth to work.

“Then what are you doing here?” Fury asked, lip curling in distaste as he looked away from Steve, in the direction that the other man, Fandral, had disappeared. 

It took Steve a moment to find his voice. “I did runaway, sir. But not to join the circus. It wasn’t until I got to town that I even knew the circus was here and I –”

“You thought you might find work at the Big Top?” Fury was still staring across the lot. 

“Yes, sir.” Steve said.

Fury’s gaze flicked to Barnes and then to the mark his cigar had left on the side of the trailer before his attention finally returned to Steve. Steve looked down at his feet, unnerved by the intensity in the older man’s one good eye. 

“Well now,” Fury said, tone dark. “I always did like people who knew how to use their manners.” 

*

Two hours later, Steve had decided that Fury couldn’t have liked him all that much. He sighed, regretting it immediately when the stench of the elephant manure he was shovelling caught in the back of his throat and made him gag, sending him into a coughing fit. 

“Alright then?” a voice asked when Steve had almost managed to compose himself. 

He started and turned to find a man watching him from the entrance of the carriage. He was wearing a plain grey shirt, rolled up at the sleeves over dark slacks and his smile was warm. His head was shaved and his skin dark. Steve coughed again when he tried to answer. 

“Yeah, it’s just...” he trailed off, gesturing with his shovel to the pile of manure he was extracting from the far corner of the carriage. 

The man laughed. “I know. I remember. Everyone gets stuck with a shovel for their first week or so. Especially if they aren’t going on the Bill. You’re Steve, right?”  
Steve nodded. 

“I’m Sam.” The man said. “Sam Wilson. Barnes sent me to collect you and take you to the Mess for a bite to eat.”

As if on cue, Steve’s stomach rumbled angrily and he smiled sheepishly. 

Sam laughed again. “C’mon then. We’re any later and we won’t get fed. You can get back to shovelling your shit after you’ve filled your stomach.”

*

The Mess, Steve discovered, was the long tent on the other side of the lot where meals were served. Sam chatted to him merrily as they picked their way through the grounds towards the tent. They were preparing for the parade through the city the next day, Sam explained. Some of the ring stock had to be unloaded from the train and loaded into their road coaches which was the biggest issue. 

“The big cats tend to get a bit cranky,” Sam mused. “Fury and Barnes often have a hard time getting them under control and loaded. Some stops it’s so bad we don’t get them loaded ‘til just before the parade.”

“I thought Fury was in charge.” Steve prompted. 

He hung on every bit of information that Sam gave him, keen to find out as much as he could of the magical place that was taking shape around him. Marquees and tents were popping up all over the lot. Music was playing from somewhere and the people – the people were like nothing Steve had ever seen. Some in colourful costumes, some dressed not dissimilar from Sam or himself but all of them fantastic. 

“Oh, he is.” Sam chuckled. “But he was master of the big cats before he took over the job of Ring Leader and he never could say goodbye to his kitties completely. These days he helps Barnes out seeing as the kid is the only one around with the gall to work with the big cats.”

Steve nodded. It made sense. He’d seen a few of the big cats earlier, being hauled across the lot in their cages, pacing agitatedly back and forth behind their bars. He hadn’t wanted to get much closer to them. 

“What about you? What do you do?” he asked Sam as they reached the Mess and the other man showed him where to wash up. 

Sam smiled a little self-depreciatively. “Me? I’m just a roustabout. No one special.”

“Don’t you lie Sam Wilson!” cried a voice and Steve jumped when a small man bounded up to them and promptly wrapped himself around Sam. “You’re plenty special! You’re my very favourite ever.” 

Sam stumbled under the stranger’s weight, a sharp bark of laughter escaping him as he righted himself and attempted to disentangle himself from the stranger’s grasp. 

Steve watched, bemused, as Sam finally extracted himself and set the smaller man back on the ground. Sam was still grinning from ear to ear when he introduced them. 

“Steve, this is Peter. Pete, this is Steve. He’s new. Fresh today.”

Peter rounded on Steve, his face alight with a bright smile. “Fresh meat! Lovely! I bet you’re on stink duty, huh? I remember it well. However, I am now Peter Parker, contortionist extraordinaire!”

Steve shook Peter’s offered hand and found himself nodding dumbly along with what Peter was saying, barely able to keep up. Sam shook his head good-naturedly. 

“Don’t break him yet Pete, he’s still shiny.” He joked, clapping a hand on the other man’s shoulders and leading them in the tent. 

*

Once inside, Peter dashed off to where another boy was waving to him, calling goodbyes over his shoulder. Sam just laughed and showed Steve to where the food was served. Steve grabbed a metal tray when instructed and he and Sam joined the queue.

“So, yes, that’s Peter.” Sam explained. “He’s part of our contortionist act with that boy, did you see him wave? Yeah, that’s Wade Wilson. They’re a double act. Have been for a couple of years now. Fury picked ‘em up together in New Jersey a few years back now. Good kids.”

“Kids?” Steve asked. 

“Pete’s fifteen. Wade is sixteen, almost seventeen. Like I said, kids.”

Steve flushed. He was barely sixteen himself and was thankful when Sam didn’t ask his age, deciding maybe it was something he should keep to himself. 

The queue shuffled forward slowly and eventually Sam and Steve reached the front. A tall light haired woman stood behind the counter, dressed in a white apron and armed with a ladle. She smiled at Sam as she took his tray and ladled a large spoonful of the stew onto it. When Steve stepped forward, she raised an delicate eyebrow.

“Frigga, this is Steve. He’s new. Steve - this is Frigga, our cook and substitute mother. ” Sam supplied helpfully. 

Frigga laughed and the melodic sound made Steve smile cautiously. “My boys give me enough trouble without adopting the rest of you.” She grinned and slopped a ladle full of the stew onto Steve’s tray too. 

Sam chuckled as they went to find a seat. “Frigga’s good people and a helluva cook. She and her two sons have been with the tour for years. Longer than most can remember.”

Steve nodded, eyes wide. Sam grinned at him reassuringly. “It’s a lot to take in, huh?” 

Steve nodded again and inexplicably felt his throat tighten with emotion. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Frigga resembled his own mother slightly and despite everything, a wave of homesickness rolled through him. 

Sam sighed and clapped a hand over Steve’s shoulder. “People are going to give you a bit of a hard time at first ‘cause you’re new but ain’t nothing serious if you mind your place. Once you’ve been here awhile it’s sorta like family, ya know? We look out for each other. Fury makes sure of that.”

Steve swallowed and nodded again as they sat down at one of the three long tables, one across from where Peter sat stealing tit-bits off Wade’s tray with his fingers. Wade either didn’t notice or didn’t mind, continuing his conversation with a thin, handsome man with long black hair. Peter caught Steve watching and gave him a small wave. At least he seemed friendly. Sam, too. 

The food was tastier than it looked and after Steve took the first tentative forkful; he began devouring the rest of his meal eagerly, famished from his morning’s work. Sam watched on amused. 

“Might wanna savour that.” He suggested. “It’s while ‘til dinner.”

Steve made a gallant effort to stop inhaling his food quite so vigorously. “Do we get all meals?”

Sam nodded. “For the most part. ‘Cept when the alfalfa gets a bit low but even then it’s still usually two squares. Only been real bad a few times and that was before Fury took over.”

“How long’s he been in charge?” Steve asked.

“Five years.” Sam replied. “Took over when our last Ring Master, ah, left. He’s a better leader anyway. Fairer, ya know?” 

Steve nodded absently, distracted as Fury himself walked into the tent, flanked by Barnes. Fury had removed his red jacket, leaving just a plain white button down with a ruffled collar tucked into black pants and large black, shiny boots. He looked untouchable, like royalty. However it was Barnes that caught Steve’s attention. He’d lost his jacket and his battered shirt was now tucked into the back of his trousers, leaving his chest bare and glistening with sweat. He had the body of a man, all corded muscle and dustings of dark hair. Steve blushed and looked back at his meal, finishing the rest in silence when Sam took up a conversation with the man sitting across from him. 

*

After they’d finished, Sam walked Steve back to the elephant carriage and told him he’d come and fetch him at the end of the day to show him where he’d sleep. Steve thanked him and got back to work, tying his handkerchief over his face to help hinder the awful smell. He sincerely hoped there would be somewhere to wash at the end of the day. 

He finished the first carriage and had just clambered into the next when he was interrupted. Barnes stood in the door way of the carriage, smirking at him. 

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“Fine.” Steve replied, mortified when his answer was smothered by his handkerchief. He yanked it off and repeated: “Fine.” He could feel his blush all the way to the tops of his ears.

Barnes’ smirk grew wider. “Enjoying your work then?” he asked looking around.

Steve knew where this was headed. “If it means I’m pulling my weight then I don’t mind it.”

Barnes cocked an eyebrow. “Well, we’re here for near a month before we move on. Plenty of time for you to change your mind and go back home. Tony was right, kid - running away to join the circus ain’t no fairytale.”

Steve looked down at the shovel in his hand, the manure on his shoes and pant cuffs. “Well, obviously.” he muttered.

When he looked up, Barnes was regarding him with a curious gaze. “I’ll let you get back to it then.” He said after a moment, turned and jumped from the carriage. 

Steve watched him go, pulled his handkerchief up and got back to work, determined. 

*

As promised, Sam came to fetch him at the end of day, laughing when he saw how filthy Steve had managed to get over the course of cleaning out nearly all the animal carriages. Every muscle in Steve’s body seemed to scream in protest as Sam helped him down from the carriage he’d been cleaning. He’d never worked so hard in his life.  
He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to move the next day, let alone get up and do it all again. 

Sam led him to an area behind the Mess tent where there were a few large barrels filled with murky looking water. Steve couldn’t even bring himself to care about modesty and alike and once Sam had explained this was indeed the wash area, he stripped down to his undergarments as fast as his aching limbs would allow. 

Sam perched on the side of the barrel and talked to Steve while he washed, his feet resting on Steve’s suitcase while he lit a cigarette. 

“So how was your first day?” Sam grinned, his face momentarily illuminated in the failing light by the spark of his match. 

“Long.” Steve huffed, scrubbing at his chest with the strange smelling soap, determined to wash the stink from his skin. 

Sam inhaled deeply, smoke pluming from his mouth as he nodded. He sat with his back to Steve, giving him some semblance of privacy for which Steve was grateful as he washed his lower regions hurriedly. 

“Barnes came to see me.” He mumbled, scrubbing the soap through his hair a minute later, angling his body away from Sam as the other man turned to look at him. 

“Oh really?

“Yes. Asked me how I was enjoying my work, like shovelling manure was anything but awful.” Steve explained, reaching for his soiled shirt and pants and dunking them into the barrel as well. 

“Ah.” Sam had finished his cigarette and he threw it to the ground, stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. “He was probably just messing with you. Haven’t had anyone fresh in a while. Fury doesn’t usually agree to take in stragglers. Especially when they don’t have a skill he can exploit.” 

“Then why take me on?” Steve asked, curious. He didn’t have anything to offer. Barnes had even said he wasn’t right for roustabout work like Sam.  
Sam shrugged. “Could be any number of reasons with Fury. My bet is he’s thinking you’ll get sick of the work and pack up for home. Most do.”

Steve looked down at the suitcase by Sam’s feet. Images flashed through his mind in quick succession: Will’s scared brown eyes, the horrified look on his mother’s face, the ache of his father’s beating and the weeks and weeks of silence that had followed. He couldn’t go home. He didn’t have one, not really.

“I don’t have a home. Not anymore.” He said finally, forcing his hands to move as he began to wring out his shirt. 

*

That night when he lay in his cot, listening to Sam snore from the other side of the carriage, he turned and looked out of the open door, across the lot. People were still moving around, a few singing along to music which was playing from one of the tents. 

A large bonfire had been lit behind the Big Top and people were beginning to gather around it, laughing and shouting at one another, dark silhouettes in front of the blaze of the flames. Steve watched as one of the silhouettes flipped onto its hands and then back again, legs flailing, encouraged to repeat the action by a chorus of shouting voices. 

What Steve had told Sam was true: he didn’t have a home anymore. But maybe – he thought sleepily – maybe if he stayed here long enough, he’d find one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, Barnes is a touchy one, no doubt.” Sam conceded, tone hushed. “And he’s got that tiger eating out of the palm of his hand. But I was there five years ago when Dante’s daddy damn near laid Fury low. Barnes was too. Popular opinion is that the boy’s got a screw loose to still want to work with the cats after seeing that.”

Steve awoke the next morning before first light to find the dark lot already buzzing with activity. When he rolled over Sam was sitting on his own cot, lacing up his boots.   

“Mornin’” the other man greeted him, voice still rough from sleep. “Best get a move on. Lots to do on parade day and no doubt you’ll want some food in your belly to start you off.”

Steve stretched in his cot, grimacing when his limbs and joints ached and throbbed in protest. He climbed gingerly to his feet and began to dress, wincing again when he leant down to tie his laces and the ache in his back and shoulders flared to a bright spark of pain. Sam noticed, huffing a laugh under his breath. 

“The labour’ll take a few weeks to get used to, kid.” he explained. “But the ache dies down eventually.”

Steve righted himself, shrugging on his shirt as slowly and gently as possible. “Good to know.” He gritted out through clenched teeth and followed Sam out of the carriage and toward the Mess.

*

After breakfast, Steve went with Sam to help ready the road coaches. 

“It’s grunt work.” Sam explained as they made their way across the lot. “Gotta get the road coaches off the train carriages and then get the horses harnessed up to pull ‘em. Not to mention getting the other animals loaded.” Sam shook his head. “Word of advice? If you see Fury or Barnes today, turn yourself around and walk in the opposite direction. Pair of them ain’t worth speakin’ to on days when we gotta move the cats.” 

Steve nodded, jogging awkwardly alongside Sam as the other man spoke. It seemed he took two strides to every one of Sam’s. He doubted he’d be much use at all hauling machinery around.

*

He wasn’t. 

Between his small stature and cluelessness about how to unload the carriages, Steve got shouted at more than he ever had in all his years at school combined. After the third or forth time he was bodily shoved out of the way of the work, he gave in and hung back, watching dejectedly as the other men unloaded the coaches. 

He could feel the skin on the back of his neck ripening under the heat of the sun and he tugged his collar up in an effort to shade the exposed skin. It was not yet Summer but the weather was getting steadily warmer and by mid-morning, the men were hot, sweaty and angry about it. They groused at Steve even though he did his best to stay out of the way. He understood, of course. It was never enjoyable to witness someone lolly-gagging while you worked but he was at a loss as to how he could help at all. 

“Hey kid!” a voice called and Steve turned on instinct. It was the man Sam had been speaking to in the Mess the night before. Steve couldn’t remember his name but he had an easy smile and for that Steve was grateful. 

“You reckon you could head over to the mess and get us fellas somethin’ to drink?” the man asked, mopping his brow with the hem of his filthy shirt. 

Steve nodded hurriedly, eager to be useful, and headed off towards the Mess. 

*

Frigga laughed when he’d told her why he’d been sent and lead him to the back of the Mess where a road carriage stood, locked and secure. She fished a key from the top of her bodice (Steve had politely looked away), unlocked the wagon and fetched a crate. She’d been able to carry it with more ease than he could manage. The bottles inside clinked prettily as he hoisted the crate into his arms. 

The effort made the muscles in his arms burn, still aching from his work the day before, but he hauled the crate all the way across the lot and was rewarded for his efforts by the cheer the men gave when he approached. Obviously the word had gone around that he’d gone to fetch drink. Each of the men patted him on the back as they retrieved a bottle and offered him thanks. 

Sam appeared by his side and took his own bottle. “Looks like you’ve made yourself useful.” he grinned before taking a swig from his beer. 

Steve bit his lip to keep from smiling. 

*

By high noon, the convoy was ready, lined up and waiting to roll out. Steve had thought the disorganised hustle and bustle of the previous day had been impressive but to see the entire circus lined up was truly a sight to behold. 

Each road coach was painted in spectacularly bright colours and pulled by a number of horses, all of which were groomed to a shine and dressed with feathers and ribbons. The performers milled around the carriages in elaborate costumes, some stretching, some hastily practising their routines. Three carriages from the front, the band lined up, four abreast and five men deep, instruments gleaming in the sunshine, gold and brass contrasting beautifully with the red of their uniforms. 

Two coaches behind them, the two elephants Steve had seen the day before swayed drowsily, dolled up in swathes of bright material. Three women sat atop the larger elephant, laughing and chatting and petting the huge animal’s ears. Two clowns sat atop the other, one over the neck and another towards the rear, calling insults at one another as they juggled long batons back and forth. 

Towards the rear of the convoy was one of the largest coaches, pulled by a team of six beautiful matching bays with silver ribbon through their plated manes. Inside the coach, the big cats paced. Steve could see now that there were four. Two female lions, an adolescent male lion and a tiger. The two females circled the perimeter of the coach while the male lion paced back and forth along one side. The tiger appeared the most relaxed of the group, lazing about in the sun, watching the other three from his vantage spot in the middle of the cage. 

Steve could’t believe how big they were. Especially the tiger who was half the size again of the two lionesses. He moved closer for a better look. Performers and roustabouts walked past the cage as if the big cats weren’t there, used to the spectacle and the cats’ part in it, but Steve found himself mesmerised by the subtle shift of their muscles under their pelts and the low, heavy hum of their breathing. 

“Gonna have to charge you if you keep staring like that.” 

Steve jumped, startled badly by the voice. He turned to find Barnes standing beside him. Like the other performers, Barnes was dressed in his show costume. He wore heavy, black boots over dark trousers that clung to his legs and which were accented by a white stripe either side that ran hip to cuff. His shirt was a deep red, tight and undone almost to his navel, adorned with large silver buttons all along the front and the cuffs of his wrists. Steve could see the contours of Barnes’ chest and the dusky pink of his left nipple. He swallowed hard and turned back to the cats. 

“They’re bigger than they seem in story books.” he admitted, proud of how steady his voice was. 

Barnes huffed. “Dante is only half grown.” He said, nodding towards the young male lion. “He’ll get to about 400 pounds in a few years time.” 

Barnes walked closer to the cage and Steve found himself following despite his reservations about the cats. As they approached the lions padded to the far side of the cage and eyed them wearily. The tiger on the other hand, slunk closer, scenting the air with long deep huffs. 

Barnes chuckled. “Hey, hey, hey.” he crooned softly, reaching out with his left hand. 

Steve’s heart seemed to flip in his chest. Surely Barnes didn’t mean to…? He watched in awe as Barnes reached between the rails of the cage and towards the tiger, who butted it’s enormous face into Barnes’ palm as though it were a barn cat seeking affection. Barnes chuckled softly. “Hey, Khan. Hey, buddy.” he said in the same low tone. 

Steve didn’t dare move. He’d known Barnes worked with the big cats but he had never imagined that they would respond to him like tame house pets. Especially the tiger, who was the largest and most intimidating of the four.  

Barnes ran his palm over the big cat’s ears, pulled at the fur directly behind them and then smoothed it back into place, a soft, adoring smile gracing his face. The expression was so warm that, for a moment, Steve had trouble remembering that it graced the same face that had smirked so sharply at him the day before. 

“Khan came to the show the same year I did.” Barnes said. “We were both just cubs then.” 

Steve drank in the information as he watched Khan bunt his nose into Barnes’ palm once more. He realised suddenly that the low rumble emanating from the cage was no  
longer just the huge cat’s breathing - Khan was purring. 

“He’s like a giant house cat.” he muttered inanely. 

“He ain’t.” Barnes said sharply as he withdrew his hand. “No house cat I ever seen could kill you in three seconds flat.” 

Steve flushed, knowing he’d insulted Barnes by the tone of the other man’s voice. 

“I didn’t mean-“ he began. “I just - he seems so-“ 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Barnes asked bluntly. “There’s probably some fresh shit to shovel by now.” 

Insulted, Steve closed his mouth so quickly that his teeth clicked. He set his jaw and turned on his heel, stalking off towards the front of the convoy. He hadn’t meant to insult Barnes but Barnes had belittled him on purpose. Steve huffed angrily. What a jerk. 

*

Late afternoon found Sam and Steve sat in the open side of their bunk carriage, watching as the day slowly faded into dusk. Only a handful of the more experienced roustabouts went with the parade, the rest staying behind to ready the lot for the swarms of people that would undoubtedly follow the parade back to the lot. Sam explained that there was no show that night but that the stalls and vendors still operated and turned a bit of coin selling sweets and tricks to the townsfolk. 

“Ain’t always the case.” Sam explained. “Most days we roll into a town, have a show that night and roll out by dawn. But we’re here for almost a month. Start of the season and all.” 

Steve frowned. “But if the show is only in town for one night, how do people know to come?” 

Sam shrugged. “Most see the train roll through or see the big top being set up and wander down. Call ‘em ‘lot lice’, the townsfolk that nose around before the lot is even set up. We’ve got a couple of 24-hour men as well that travel ahead of the show, put up posters and hand out flyers and the like.” 

Steve watched as Sam uncurled a beaten looking pack of cigarettes from his shirt sleeve and tapped one out. “Business ain’t been the best these last few years. People just haven’t got the money to spend on the nonessentials, ya know? But we get by. Fury makes sure noone goes hungry.” 

Steve nodded, trying not to think about the empty feeling in his stomach. There’d been no lunch in the Mess due to the parade and dinner felt like a long way off. Sam seemed to read his mind. He grinned around the end of his cigarette. 

“No dinner tonight either.” he said and Steve’s stomach gave a horrified twist. “Everyone eats from the vendors tonight. Means Frigga gets a night off too. Stick with me, I’ll get you fed.” 

Steve smiled and dipped his head in thanks. 

“Saw you talking to Barnes today.” Sam said then. “Didn’t think he’d be so friendly on a parade day.” 

Steve’s smile dropped. “Wouldn’t say he was overly friendly.” he admitted, still stung from Barnes’ blunt dismissal. 

Sam’s eyebrows climbed up. “He seemed to enjoy introducing you to Khan. Big lug was smiles all round.” 

Steve huffed. There was a note in Sam’s voice that Steve couldn’t quite place. “He got offended when I said the tiger looked like a house cat. Brushed me off right smart. Wasn’t too polite about it either.” 

Understanding dawned across Sam’s handsome face. “Ah, I see.” he murmured and took another long drag from his cigarette. “Don’t ever disrespect the cats, kid. Ain’t none that have been round here five years that will appreciate it if you do.” 

Steve frowned. “I don’t understand. He coddled the damn thing as though it was a house cat! What was I supposed to think?”

“Oh, Barnes is a touchy one, no doubt.” Sam conceded, tone hushed. “And he’s got that tiger eating out of the palm of his hand. But I was there five years ago when Dante’s daddy damn near laid Fury low. Barnes was too. Popular opinion is that the boy’s got a screw loose to still want to work with the cats after seeing that.” 

“What happened?” Steve asked, curiosity burning in his chest. 

Sam sighed. “I’ve been kickin’ sawdust about 10 years now. Started when I was just a young lad of about twelve or thirteen. Both my folks had shuffled off and I thought the circus seemed a lot more fun than the orphanage.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen a lot these last few years. All sorts of accidents, you know? But five years ago, Fury walked into the ring with Dante’s daddy, Lucifer, and we carried them both out. Fury had been working with Lucifer since the damn beast was a cub but that one day, Lucifer took exception and hauled off. Swiped Fury across the face in the middle of the act, in front of all the rubes.” Sam took another puff from his cigarette. “I ain’t ever gonna forget how the kiddies screamed or how fast Fury went down. Out cold and missing half his face in a split second.” 

Steve winced. “What happened to the lion?” he asked. 

“Barnes did.” Sam answered. “The tent was chaos. Townsfolk trying to get out, away from Lucifer, and all us trying to get in to help Fury. Lucifer had gone wild, they tend to when they scent blood. He would’ve mauled the first thing he got his paws on. In the middle of it all, Barnes picks up a rifle and pops the damned cat straight between the eyes from about 40 paces.” 

Sam flicked his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under the toe of his boot. “We got Fury out, got him patched up as best we could.” He paused for a moment and Steve realised he could hear music blowing in faint and soft on the warm spring wind. It was the band, playing in the distance. The parade would be back before dusk. “But there ain’t no eye under that patch,” Sam continued. “And ain’t one of us that can forget why.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 will be up tomorrow as this one is quite short.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I _know_ I’m new. I _know_ I don’t belong.” Steve's voice caught on the last word as other emotions tried to bubble up alongside his anger. He fought to push them back. “But I damned well don’t belong anywhere else anymore and I am _trying_ , okay?” He stared at Barnes through the failing light, chest heaving, knowing vaguely that he was possibly about to get punched.

The parade rolled back into the lot as dusk settled in and suddenly the impending night was lit up with the sounds and lights of the entire show. Steve dodged through the flocks of people flanking the parade, finishing the last of his corn dog in two large bites. The crowd swelled as the parade disbanded and the lot opened up to reveal the stalls and vendors. Children yelled excitedly, tugging on their parents hands, and guys swung their arms over the shoulders of their best girls, keen to win them prizes at the games. 

Steve had been to the circus once as a child - an experience that he remembered in flashes of colours and snippets of sound. His father had won a small stuffed bear and presented it to his mother. Steve smiled fondly at the memory before the ache in his chest threatened to overwhelm him and he looked about the lot with burning eyes, seeking distraction. 

He caught sight of the big cats’ road coach as it slipped around the side of the Big Top, headed for the menagerie. The big cats looked to be asleep, despite the commotion, heaped in a pile in one corner of their cage. Barnes was perched a top the coach, hair wild from the wind, his red shirt still bright in the failing light. Steve could not help but see him a little differently now. Barnes was a hero for having saved Fury’s life as well as the lives of countless others with his quick thinking and marksmanship and, even if part of Steve still did think him mad for ever agreeing to work with the big cats after what had happened, he had to respect Barnes for that. 

He needed to apologise, Steve decided, for what ever it was he’d said that had offended Barnes. He didn’t want to ruffle any feathers or get on anyone’s bad side so early on, especially if what Sam had said about the circus-folk looking out for one another was true. Mind made up, he dodged around two small children and their parents and set off toward the menagerie. 

*

Steve found Barnes by the water pump at the rear of the menagerie. The pump looked antiquated but drew up clear, fresh water with each crank of the handle and was one of two that was watering the entire lot. Barnes’ shirt was so tight that Steve could see the muscles across his shoulders ripple with every pump of the mechanism and for a moment, his voice was lost. 

Steve’s fingers, despite the blisters and scabs that his hands had accumulated, itched for a pencil or a chunk of charcoal. Anything that he might use to be able to sketch out the ratio between Barnes’ shoulders and hips. He was still staring when Barne’s turned and startled at the sight of him, water sloshing over the edge of the buckets he was carrying as he jumped. 

“Christ! That’s a good way to give a fella a heart attack!” he exclaimed, setting the buckets down once more to wipe his damp hands across his thighs. 

“Sorry!” Steve managed. “I just…I want to - uh…”

Barnes raised an eyebrow. 

“Apologise.” Steve finished lamely. 

Barnes’ other eyebrow climbed and he appraised Steve with a bemused gaze. “Oh?”

“For earlier.” Steve explained, relieved that the words had started to escape a little easier from his suddenly dry mouth. “I thought I might have offended you before the parade and I wanted to make amends.” 

Barnes looked genuinely taken aback for a moment before he schooled his features back into the cool expression of almost-disinterest that Steve was becoming increasingly familiar with. 

“Don’t mention it.” he told Steve, hoisting the buckets up once more and heading back towards the big cats coach. 

Steve frowned, uncertain if his apology had been accepted or not. He scurried after Barnes. 

“I didn’t mean to imply your work was’t dangerous or anything like that.” Steve continued words tumbling out.  
Barnes scoffed but offered no other response. 

“I mean, anyone can see that it’s exactly the opposite.” Steve’s cheeks were beginning to heat. “You must really be brave to get up close and personal with ‘em.” 

Barnes set the buckets down before hoisting one up to pour through the bars of the coach, filling the cats water trough until it ran over. Steve bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything else. Barnes didn’t reply, didn’t even look at him. Instead, he stepped around the still full bucket and approached the horses still attached to the road coach. 

“Sam told me what happened to Fury.” Steve blurted. He didn’t like the way Barnes refused to acknowledge him or his apology. He felt like a fly, a pest: annoying but not worth paying any real attention to. 

Finally, Barnes looked up from where he was working on the straps of one of the first horses harnesses. “Is that so?” 

Steve nodded despite the extra heat that flared across his face. “Real brave what you did. Sam said you saved Fury’s life.” 

Barnes hummed noncommittally and went back to working loose the harness. “Any man with a conscience woulda done the same thing.” he said. 

“Sam said you hit the lion between the eyes from forty paces.” Steve continued, emboldened by the fact that he’d coaxed Barnes into replying. “Ain’t just any man that coulda made that shot.”

Barnes grunted as he pulled the final stubborn strap free. “Yeah, well, I used to shoot at cans back when I was a lad. Always kind of had a knack for it.” 

“And not just Fury. Sam said all the rubes panicked and that-” Steve began earnestly. 

Barnes barked out a laugh that cut Steve off. “Rubes?” he asked, grinning his unkind smile. “The pressed creases haven’t even dropped out of your very fine trousers and you’re already using the lingo, eh?” He shook his head, disbelievingly. He turned then and began to lead the horse away. 

Steve’s smile slid off his face and settled cold and hard in his stomach. Barnes was mocking him again when he’d only wanted to apologise. He didn’t need anybody to remind him that he looked out of place, that he didn’t belong. He knew that already. Heat replaced the cold feeling in his stomach as quickly as it had frozen over and Steve felt the anger bubble up through his chest as he watched Barnes walk away.

“Hey!” he called and started after Barnes. “ _Hey_!” 

Barnes didn’t turn until he’d finished tying the horse to a resting pole and by the time he did, Steve was already in his personal space, frowning so deeply he could feel the way the skin folded between his brows. 

“Whoa!” Barnes said, stepping back and spooking the horse slightly. “What’s your problem, punk?” he demanded. 

Steve huffed. “You are!” he hissed. “Yeah, I said the wrong thing and we got off on the wrong foot. But I am trying to apologise and you’re still trying to make me feel like a mook!” He raised a hand and poked himself in the chest for emphasis as he continued. “I _know_ I’m new. I _know_ I don’t belong.” Steve's voice caught on the last word as other emotions tried to bubble up alongside his anger. He fought to push them back. “But I damned well don’t belong anywhere else anymore and I am _trying_ , okay?” He stared at Barnes through the failing light, chest heaving, knowing vaguely that he was possibly about to get punched.

Barnes stared back for several long moments. “You done?” he asked finally and Steve blinked, thrown by the other man’s response. 

“Yeah?” 

Barnes nodded once. “Then help me with the rest of the horses, will ya? I don’t wanna be here all night.” He brushed past Steve and headed back towards the roach coach where the waiting horses were beginning to shift restlessly. 

Thrown, Steve followed. 

*

Barnes showed him how to unharness the horses and where to bunk them for the night. Despite Steve’s outburst, Barnes was patient and almost-kind as Steve’s unpractised fingers slipped uselessly over buckles and straps and when he spooked the horses with his cussing and too-quick movements. 

As they worked, Barnes talked. He told Steve about what would happen the next day - two shows, a matinee and an evening show.

“You’ll probably work some patch work here and there.” Barnes told him, as they hauled water over to the horses. Barnes had a bucket in each hand, arms straining with the effort. 

It took all of Steve’s strength to carry one and it made him hobble awkwardly, water sloshing with every step. 

“They always need people manning the hooch tent.” Barnes continued. “Fellas try and get a look at the girls for free, peep under the side of the tent and the like. You get to whack ‘em with sticks.” He smiled as though he was reliving some fond memory and in the few seconds that the expression graced his face, Steve yearned for a means to draw the other man. 

Barnes’ face was a myriad of contradictions. For the most part, he looked sour, his full lips seeming to pout of their own accord while his eyes stayed blank and almost unfocussed. It gave him a bored and slightly uninterested resting disposition. However as soon as the muscles in is face moved - to smile, to frown, to arch an eyebrow - his whole face came alive. Steve tried to catch and remember each nuance of emotion as it flitted across the other man’s but it was difficult to do without outright staring and he didn’t want to wreck their shaky truce before it had begun.

It wasn't until the final horse was tethered and watered that Steve realised Barnes was apologising to him by trying to familiarise him with the comings and goings of the circus, trying to make everything seem less alien by explaining how it all worked. 

By the time they had started to make their way back across the lot, towards the wash area, Barnes had even begun naming the performers and their acts. “Pete and Wade are our contortionists, though Wade swallows swords as well. Natasha’s on the trapeze but she also helps out with Clint’s act. He straps her to a spinning board and shoots arrows at her blindfolded-” he paused at Steve’s shocked intake of breath. 

“I know! It’s a real trip. Touch wood, he ain’t ever hit her. Then there’s Thor, he’s our strong man and his brother Loki is our illusionist. He also reads fortunes for the rubes when he’s in a sweet enough mood. They’re Frigga’s - you’ve met Frigga, right? - yeah, well they’re Frigga’s boys.” 

Steve nodded along as Barnes rambled but soon found he could hardly concentrate on what the other man was saying for the distraction of the shape of Barnes’ mouth while he spoke. 

“Hey Barnes?” he said. 

Barnes stopped and looked over at him. Steve could now only make out the features of Barnes’ face by the soft glow of the lanterns and the residual light from the bigtop. 

“Thanks.” Steve said, thankful for the dim light when his own cheeks began to heat up again. 

Barnes cocked an eyebrow but then shrugged, like he was shrugging off the attitude and cool appraisal that Steve was already so used too. 

“Ain’t nothin’” he muttered and then turned to one of the barrels and slipped out of his red shirt. 

Steve bit his lip and watched the muscles in Barnes’ back work as the other man bent to scoop out a large hand full of water and wet his hair. Water trickled down the long smooth plain of Barnes’ back to the waist of his trousers and Steve’s eyes tracked it until he had to look away, flushed and embarrassed. 

“You gonna wash?” Barnes asked, looking over his shoulder. 

Steve nodded hurriedly but said nothing as he did not trust his voice to cooperate. Instead he tugged off his own shirt and tried not to notice the way Barnes’ looked him over, probably cataloguing the way Steve’s ribs protruded and the scrawniness of his arms. He turned his back and picked up a discarded bar of soap.

“My first name is James, by the way.” Barnes said to his back. “James Buchanan Barnes. But most call me Barnes. Easier to go by last names when there’s fifty fellas around all named James.” 

Steve wanted to turn around again, wanted to watch Barnes-James-Barnes soap his chest and under his arms but instead he washed his own, humming happily as the grime of the day slid off. 

“Buchanan?” he asked.

Behind him, Barnes scoffed. “Don’t ask me, pal. Was pinned to my blanket when my mama left me under the seats in the big top.”

Steve did turn at that, eyes wide. “How old were you?” he asked. 

Barnes shrugged. “A few months. My daddy was a roustabout. Met my mama when the circus was in town and then left her with a bastard baby in her belly. A year goes by and the circus is back. Daddy wasn’t workin’ the show no more by then but she figured she could still give me back.”  
Barnes’ tone was casual, like he hadn’t grown up without his parents, like it hadn’t hurt him at all to be abandoned by the two people in the world that were supposed to look out for him no matter what. 

“But you were only a baby!” Steve implored. “You could have died!” 

Bucky shrugged again and rescued - what looked to Steve to be - the same battered cigar stub from the day before out of his pocket before his trousers became too damp. He didn’t look at Steve as he dusted it off with nimble fingers and then stuck it between his teeth so that he could light it, flicking the match to the sodden ground at his feet when he was done. 

“Yeah, well, lucky for me one of the cooks had just lost her own bub and was still feelin’ mighty maternal.” Barnes said around the end of his cigar, smoke puffing out between the words. 

“Did they ever find your father?” Steve asked. 

Barnes shook his head. “Some of the working men knew who he was but we had no way of getting in contact with him. Didn’t matter to me anyway. Most kids get one dad if they’re lucky. I had about eighty fellas to teach me to shave and fight.” He laughed then but the noise was hollow. 

Steve’s chest ached for him. 

“Come on, punk.” Barnes said then. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t take to kindly to pity. You’re reminding me why I haven’t told this story to too many people.”

Steve averted his eyes. “I just…didn’t realise you’d been with the circus for so long.” he lied, trying to make his tone light, like he wasn’t thinking of his own father and mother and how lucky he’d been to have them until he…didn’t. “What happened to…?” Steve trailed off. 

“My mama?” 

Steve nodded. 

“Dunno. My adopted mama died about 7 years back now, God rest her soul. She ended up having another baby when I was four. Rebecca’s married now herself, lives in Graceland with her fella. Circus life never suited her well.” Barnes shook his head and took a long drag on his cigar. Steve was glad they were out in the open and the smoke couldn’t effect his lungs. 

“Jeez, punk.” Barnes said then. “You know more about me now than some of the fellas here that I’ve known half my life and all I know about you is your name and that you’ve got a fiery Irish temper that don’t half match up with your size.”

Steve flushed and reached out to collect his shirt back from the side of the barrel, wrestling it on despite the fact he was still damp. He couldn’t take Barnes’ eyes on him - it made him feel small and useless in a way he hadn’t done in years. It made him feel worse than not being able to help the men unload the road carriages had done. 

“You seem to have forgotten my name.” He pointed out, throwing Barnes a hard look. “It’s not actually ‘punk’.” 

Barnes smirked. “Nonsense Stuart.” he said nonchalantly around the end of his cigar but the act was ruined when Steve’s outraged squawk caused him laugh, full bodied and rich. 

“It’s ‘Steve’, you jerk!” Steve pointed out but his stern tone was ruined by the grin that he could not contain. 

“Steven Rogers.” Barnes grinned. “I know.”

*

Sam was already asleep by the time Steve got back to their carriage. He could hear the other man snoring when Barnes gave him a lazy two fingered salute and a whispered: “Goodnight, Stevie” before setting off for his own bed. 

Steve clambered into the carriage as quietly as possible but ended up catching his foot on the end of his cot and swearing loudly as he caught himself from landing on his face. Sam’s snoring cut out with a snort. 

“Steve?” he asked, pulling himself partially upright in his cot and reaching out to turn up the flame in the oil lamp beside hid bed. The lamp cast a warm light through their carriage and made their shadows dance high up the walls.

“Yeah. It’s me.” Steve huffed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

He watched as Sam rubbed his eyes and checked his watch.

“It’s almost 2. Where have you been?” 

Steve bit his lip to keep from grinning and busied himself by unlacing his boots. Sam had procured them for him the day before. “People will take one look at those shoes you got on and assume you’re a rube.” he’d warned Steve. The boots were a size too big but the well worn leather was awfully comfortable. 

“I went and found Barnes when the parade got back.” he explained. “I wanted to apologise for upsetting him.” 

Sam scoffed. “Upsetting Barnes on parade day is about as easy as falling out of a boat and hitting water. You needn’t have put yourself through that.” 

Steve heaved one boot off, wincing as the movement pulled on sore muscles and then again at the smell of his own foot. 

“Naw.” he told Sam. “It wasn’t so bad.” He paused, considering. “Well, it was. But I called him on being a jerk and then he asked me to help him with the horses. Filled me more about how everything’s run too. Who people are and the like, ya know?” Steve didn’t mention Barnes opening up about his childhood. It felt private and he was secretly pleased to know something about Barnes that most others didn’t. 

“Sounds like he got downright chatty.” Sam observed, cocking a dark eyebrow. “Musta taken a shine to you, kid.” 

Steve hid his grin by contorting himself to tug off his other boot. He’d gotten away with telling Barnes as little as possible about himself which he felt slightly guilty about when Barnes had shared so much. His story was pretty boring compared to Barnes’ anyway. At least that’s what he’d argued when Barnes had pressed about his past. He’d told Barnes he’d grown up in Brooklyn (true) before lack of work had pushed his parents to move out to Jersey where the rent was cheaper and they needed fit men like his father for manual labour (also true). He hadn’t told Barnes that his mother had pushed for the move because she’d thought the air would be cleaner somewhere less built up than Brooklyn and that it might help Steve’s asthma or the real reason he’d run away from home. Instead, he’s fobbed up some cock and bull story about a disagreement he’d had with his old man and that he’d been thrown out which was - Steve tried to reason with his guilt - partially true. He paused and wondered if his parents would return to the city now that they didn’t have his lungs or medical bills to worry about. 

“Steve?” Sam asked, pulling Steve out of his thoughts. 

“Hm? Oh yeah. Well, he ain’t that bad.” Steve said. “Got a keen sense of humour even.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t think I’ve even heard him chuckle, let alone tell a joke.” he said. 

Steve frowned. “When we went for a wash, he-”

“You went for a wash?” Sam asked, cutting him off. “In his carriage?” 

“What? No. At the wash area you showed me last night.” Steve explained, confused. 

Sam made a soft noise of disbelief. “Huh.” 

“What?” Steve asked. 

“Barnes is a performer, kid. One of our top bills even. He’s got a swanky carriage towards the front of the line with a washroom and everything. He even tosses a penny to poor sods like us to fetch him wood for his fire every now and then.” Sam explained. “Just seems odd that he’d choose to take a wash out of a barrel when he could of had a warm shower is all.” 

Steve blinked. “Maybe he didn’t want to mess up his carriage.” he reasoned. 

“Maybe.” Sam agreed. “Or maybe he just wanted to hang around with you a bit longer. We roustabouts don’t get invites to the front of the line very often.”

“But you said it was kind of like a family here.” 

“I did. But even families have a hierarchy. Fury’s the boss man so he’s like our father, yeah? Tells us what to do and gives us an allowance when we do it right. Frigga’s our mother ‘cause she feeds us and is the only person I’ve seen beat Fury in an argument. Anyway, the performers - they’re the older brothers and sisters - too cool and daddy’s favourites to boot. They eat first, get a bigger allowance and the best rooms in the house, you follow me?”

Steve nodded, his brow knit with concentration.

“After them comes the stall holders and lot acts. They’re the middle children. Not as special as the first borns - the spec acts - but they still do alright. And then there’s us. We’re the youngest children and we ain’t nothing special. We crawl around in the mud and get paid a pittance for it despite the fact that the show couldn’t run without us. The performers - they don’t play with us. They wouldn’t want to get their pretty costumes dirty.” 

“So you’re saying Barnes can’t be my friend because he’s a performer and I’m a roustabout?” Steve asked. 

Sam shook his head. “No. I’m saying that Barnes _ain’t_ your friend because he’s a performer and you’re a roustabout. People only mix within their own lot.” 

A thought struck Steve. “But you and Peter are friendly and he’s a performer.” he argued. 

“Pete’s a newcomer. Wade too. They’re performers but they started out same as you - shovellin’ shit. And same as you, I took ‘em under my wing. It wasn’t ’til Wade worked up the courage to show Fury his skills that they even made the bill and by then, Peter was mighty thankful for all my help. We’ve stayed friendly, but we ain’t friends.”

Steve frowned harder. “That’s ridiculous.”

Sam laughed. “I know. But it’s just the way things are. Always have been.” He reached over and shut off the lamp. “Get some sleep, Steve. You get your shovellin’ done early tomorrow and you might actually get to see the show.” 

Steve crawled onto his cot and laid down. He wanted to ignore what Sam had told him and hold onto the hope that Barnes actually wanted to be his friend but before he could give it too much thought, the weariness of his body won out and he slipped into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the length of this chapter makes up for the last! Be warned: it's turning into a bit of an epic. See you next week! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Steve woke slowly and not completely rested. He groaned and pulled his thin quilt up over his head in an effort to block out the light beginning to filter into their carriage. Sam was already up and dressed and sat smoking a cigarette in the carriage doorway, one leg tucked up to his chest, the other swinging loose. 
> 
> “That’s what you get for stoppin' out all night with strange men.” he teased, voice muffled around the end of his cigarette and Steve’s ears went pink beneath his blanket.

The next morning, Steve woke slowly and not completely rested. He groaned and pulled his thin quilt up over his head in an effort to block out the light beginning to filter into their carriage. Sam was already up and dressed and sat smoking a cigarette in the carriage doorway, one leg tucked up to his chest, the other swinging loose. 

“That’s what you get for stoppin' out all night with strange men.” he teased, voice muffled around the end of his cigarette and Steve’s ears went pink beneath his blanket. 

“Us workin’ men need our beauty sleep if we’re going to make a decent start on the day.” 

Steve groaned again. “What time is it?” he asked. 

“Half seven. You’re gonna wanna get up now or you’ll miss breakfast.” Sam replied.

Steve finally sat up, smiling sheepishly at Sam. “Mornin’.”

“Mornin’.” Sam grinned back. 

The morning was fresh without being cold and the lot was already doused in soft spring light. Steve stretched and took a deep breath which miraculously didn’t catch in his lungs despite the fact that some of Sam’s cigarette smoke was wafting back into the carriage. 

“Remind me to ask Frigga for some stale tea bags at breakfast.” Sam said once Steve had pulled himself upright and begun to pull on his boots over fresh socks. 

“Yeah. Why’s that?” Steve asked before cursing under his breath when he looped a lace wrong. 

“‘Cause your boots reak like somethin’ crawled into ‘em and died.” Sam chuckled. “The tea pulls the smell out.” 

Steve flushed. “They smelt like that before I got ‘em.” he argued. 

Sam laughed again. “Whatever you say, kid. Come on. I’ve been helpin’ to set up tents already and I’m starving. Breakfast time!” 

*

As they walked towards the Mess, Steve was amazed by the way the lot had changed over night. Twice as many tents now stood in front of the Big Top, lining the way from the entrance gate to the grounds. 

“Those tents are for the stalls.” Sam explained. “Food vendors, side-show games and the like. Loki’s got a tent for his fortunes and Bruce has one that he sells his remedies and potions out of. Some of the cuddlier animals go into a petting-zoo for the kids. All very family friendly. They do a lot of business in the hour or so before the show.” 

Steve nodded, his eye catching on an emerald green tent that had sprung up further back. It was well out of the way of the other tents, almost hidden behind the Big Top and the sprawl of the menagerie marquee. 

“What’s that green one for?” he asked and Sam barked a laugh. 

“That’s the hooch tent.” He explained. “It don’t open until tonight.”

Steve’s cheeks flushed hot. Barnes had mentioned the tent the night before. “Do the girls really…?” he trailed off, unsure of how to finish. When Sam looked at him with an arched eyebrow, he gave a quick shimmy off his shoulders, trying to imitate the way the girls might dance, which set Sam into another fit of laughter. 

“Sure do and hell, kid, with those moves? You might me looking at a time slot there yourself.” 

Steve face felt like it was on fire despite the pride he felt for making Sam laugh. “Hush up.” he groused good-naturedly. “Barnes said I might work there later tonight.” 

Sam chuckled. “In your dreams maybe. The hooch tent is the only place men volunteer to work for a few very obvious reasons.” He reached out and held the flap of the Mess tent open for Steve. “You’ll be shovellin’ shit in the menagerie no doubt.” 

Steve stepped through the door with a muttered “great” and grinned when Sam laughed again. 

There was hardly any line for breakfast as most were already sitting down eating. Steve caught sight of Barnes sitting next to Fury but as the other man’s attention seemed to be focused on the paper sprawled out in front of him, he did not notice Steve. Steve tried hard not to feel disappointed. 

Breakfast was porridge and black coffee, served with a scolding from Frigga regarding their tardiness. 

“I am almost about to close up the kitchen.” She told Steve. “And there’s not enough of you to send you out to work on an empty stomach.” 

“Yes, mam. Sorry, mam.” Steve apologised, smiling when he saw her ladle an extra half a spoonful of porridge onto his tray. “Thank-you.”

“Don’t let it happen again.” Frigga warned. “There aren’t enough boys around here with manners as nice as yours.” 

Steve gave her one last grin and set off after Sam to find a seat. Sam was already seated next to a group of men, some of whom Steve recognised from the day before. He climbed onto the bench beside Sam and nodded to the man in the bowler hat who sat opposite him. 

“Steve, this is Timothy Dugan.” Sam introduced him. “Or ‘Dum Dum’ for short.”

“Pleased ta meet ya.” Dum Dum said and held out a meaty across the table for Steve to shake. “I saw you scurrying about yesterday. Got us some drinks, you did.” 

Steve nodded as he released Dum Dum’s hand. “Yeah, that was me. Steve Rogers, nice to meet you too.” 

Dum Dum gave him an assessing look. “No offence, kid, but you ain’t really built for roustabout work.” 

Sam laughed. “That’s what I told him. But Steve here has grand ideas about working the hooch tent tonight.” 

The men around them chuckled. 

“Over mah dead body per’aps.” an accented voice piped up and Steve looked down the table to find a man - smaller than Dum Dum, though that wasn’t hard - smiling back at him. “Jacques Dernier” he said again in his heavily accented English. “Or Jackie, ef you prefer. A pleasure.”

Steve dipped his head in acknowledgement.

They took turns introducing themselves then. Gabe Jones was the dark skinned man sitting beside Dum Dum and James Falsworth was the Brit sitting next to him. Jim Morita, “the Jap from Fresno”, sat between Sam and Jackie. 

“So, you ran away to join the circus, eh?” Gabe asked and Steve shook his head hurriedly, mouth too full of porridge to answer. 

“Didn’t know the circus was in town until I got here from Jersey.” he explained once he’d swallowed. 

“Ah, so eet is just a ‘appy coincidence then?” Jackie asked and Steve nodded.

“A happy coincident indeed.” Jones agreed in his own smooth baritone. “I was about to keel over before you fetched that beer for us yesterday.” 

Steve grinned. “Just happy to help.” 

“You know Steve.” Falsworth said. “I bet Frigga could use a man like you in the kitchens to run errands and the like for her. Some of the performers prefer to eat in their trailers and she doesn’t like to trust rope-in rubes to do that kind of thing.” 

Steve nodded. He liked the sound of the idea. 

Sam was nodding too. “Could be a sweet gig. You should talk to her after breakfast.” 

Steve grinned, emboldened by Sam’s approval. “Will do.” 

Dum Dum grinned. “Just be sure she don’t mistake you for an underfed chicken and try to make you into soup.” he warned which was apparently the wittiest thing he’d ever said because the others roared with laughter. 

Steve laughed with them, able to recognise the comment as nothing more than a good-natured ribbing. 

He looked across the tent then and caught Barnes’ eye, the other man’s attention caught by the ruckus they were making. He grinned, butterflies suddenly alive in his stomach. He hoped Sam was wrong and that Barnes wouldn’t dismiss him in the light of day. He held his breath until Barnes hitched one corner of his mouth in some approximation of a smile before he turned back to his paper. 

*

Sam took him to see Frigga after they'd eaten. When they found her - tucked away in the tiny kitchen at the back of the Mess - she was standing over a tub, up to her elbows in sudsy water, dishes piled high to one side. Steve couldn't believe there was no one helping her and when Sam explained that Steve wanted to do just that, her face broke into a smile. 

"Of course I'd appreciate the help." She exclaimed before turning to Steve. "Lost all my extra hands to the big smoke already. They use the show as a means of getting to the city without having to pay their way and then they take off. You won't leave me high and dry, will you dear?" 

Steve shook his head. "No, mam." He promised. 

"And you," Frigga continued, attention back on Sam. "You've explained to him that he won't earn as much as a labourer? He knows what the men will say about him - to him?" 

"Uh." Sam shrugged and scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. 

Steve watched as Frigga's gaze hardened and she made a soft noise of disapproval in the back of her throat. 

"Steven - it is Steven, isn't it?" Steve nodded. Frigga smiled kindly. "Well, Steven, kitchen pays less than labouring but it is kinder on the body." She explained, her eyes darting to the raw skin of Steve's hands. "And the men, they consider the kitchen to be a woman's place so they may..." She trailed off awkwardly as though she didn't know how to finish. 

Steve could guess though. He'd heard enough of what the men would say about him back home. He just wasn't made for sports or rough housing with his weak lungs and scrawny arms. At school he had always preferred to stay inside and draw with the girls during break. The habit had earned him his fair share of derogatory nicknames. "Little Stephanie Rogers!" Frankie Panozzo had crowed. "The ugliest doll in the forth grade!" Steve had punched him for it and split his lip but in the resulting scramble, Frankie had managed to break Steve's nose for the first time. Steve winced at the memory. 

"With all due respect, mam, I figure whatever I make is more than I had before and it really ain't my business what people say about me behind my back." He told Frigga. 

She smiled and Steve was once again struck by the resemblance she shared with his mother. 

"Well, if you're certain, I will talk to Fury after the show this evening and you can report to me first thing tomorrow."

Steve beamed and Sam clapped him on the shoulder. "Way to go Rogers. Only one more day of shit shovellin' for you!" He crowed and then immediately: "Sorry, mam" when both Steve and Frigga looked at him sharply.  
   
*

Shovelling manure wasn’t any more enjoyable than it had been previously however working in the menagerie rather than the train carriages meant the smell was not quite as bad. Steve had forgone tying his handkerchief over his face in favour for tying it around his right hand to cover the worst of his blisters.

As he worked, Steve listened to the band warming up next door in the Big Top and hummed along to the tunes he knew. When he was younger, his mother had often let him listen to the radio in the evening if he’d finished his schoolwork. Then one Christmas, she’d bought him his very own radio for his bedroom. Steve still had no idea how she’d managed to afford it. His father had thought it a waste of money and, on more than once occasion, threatened to take it back when he thought Steve was playing it to loudly. Despite that, when he helped his father work on their beat up old car, his dad often encouraged him to bring the small radio out so they could listen to the game together. Steve righted himself and swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, rubbing at his eyes with his bandaged palm when they began to burn. 

"No luck on workin' the hooch tent then?" 

Steve turned to find Barnes lighting a new cigar, hand cupped around the flame of his match. The other man was dressed in his outfit from the parade, red shirt and tight black slacks. He also had what looked to be a small tin resting against his hip, slung on a strap across his chest like a satchel. Steve swallowed again, tucking his homesickness away in favour of surreptitiously admiring the bare triangle of Barnes' chest and enjoying the pleasant fluttery feeling it gave him in his stomach. 

"None." He replied. "One of the men told me over his dead body." 

Barnes smiled at that, exhaling from the corner of his mouth. He kept his distance and Steve didn't blame him. He'd only be working for a few hours but he knew he must smell to the high heavens. 

"Looks like you won't be catching the matinee today then." Barnes observed, eyes dipping to the pile of manure that Steve still had to heft into the wheelbarrow and move to the back of the lot. "Shame that." 

Steve hummed in agreement. "Should catch some of the evening show though."

Barnes cocked an eyebrow. 

"Maybe." Steve amended and smiled when Barnes smirked at that. 

"If you do," Barnes said around the end of his cigar. "Make sure you catch the beginning of the second half. Best part of the whole show." 

Steve leant on the end of his shovel. "Oh?" He asked. 

Barnes exhaled a long plume of smoke. "Yep. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!" 

"And their exceptionally modest trainer as well?" Steve grinned. 

Barnes shrugged. "Well, technically Baloo is part of Thor's act but they are on directly after us so..." He dead panned. 

Steve laughed outright at that. "I'll try my hardest but..." He swept a hand around him. There was several piles of manure waiting and another two cages to sweep out. 

Barnes snickered and took a wide arc around the mess to approach the road carriage where the big cats were. 

"Hey, hey, hey." Barnes called to the sleeping cats, voice soft around the butt of the cigar held between his teeth. The lionesses and young lion opened their eyelids into thin slits, watching Bucky approach with disinterest. The tiger however, rolled to its feet and approached the bars of the carriage. "Hey." Barnes crooned drawing out the sound. 

Khan reached the bars and butted them with his head, turning to rub his cheek and whiskers along them. He followed the movement with his body, drawing his himself across the bars from shoulder to flank. Then he turned and repeated the motion along his other side. Steve had seen cats do the same thing to their owners' legs. 

Barnes was talking to the tiger again in the same low register he always seemed to use around the cats but Steve could not make out exactly what the other man was saying due to the loud rumble of Khan's purr. Barnes dipped his fingers into the tin resting agains his hip and drew out a strap of raw meat. Khan's purring deepened and Steve could see the way Barnes' cheeks hitched with a grin as the tiger turned his full attention to what Barnes held between his fingers. 

"That gets your attention, huh?" Barnes observed wryly. “Nothin’ but a pig with stripes.” 

He held the meat up to the cage and Steve watched in wonder as Khan took it ever-so-gently from Barnes’ fingers.

Obviously keen not to miss out, the lions hefted themselves to their feet as well and approached the front of the cage. Khan let out a low growl and widened his stance, defending his spot directly in front of Barnes and the food. The noise, so different from the happy rumble of his purr, set the hair on the back of Steve’s neck on end. 

The two lioness approached the bars to the tiger’s left, scenting the air. Barnes fed the larger female first and then the other. Khan took little notice of the proceedings, his head turned silently to the right, eyes racking Dante’s movements as the lion approached the front of the cage in a wide arch. As the young lion drew nearer, Khan’s ears flattened to his head and his enormous jaw parted around a growl, lips pulling back to show his enormous teeth. Dante dropped low to the floor of the cage and let out a growl in return, lips pulling back into a snarl to answer Khan’s. 

“Hey!” shouted Barnes, cigar clenched between the fingers of his right hand and knocking the tin against the bars of the carriage which a clang with his left. “Enough!” 

The combination of his voice and the loud, echoing clang seemed to be enough to break the two male cats out of the stalemate they had reached and Khan side stepped to his left, allowing Dante to approach with little more than an agitated flick of his tail and another long, disapproving sidewards glance. Steve let out a breath that he had not realised his was holding. 

Barnes did not feed Dante like he had the other cats and instead of handing the meat to Dante, he placed it down on the edge of the cage for the young lion to snatch up.  
Barnes turned then and Steve hurried to push his shovel into the manure by his feet, embarrassed that he had been caught staring yet again. From the corner of his eye, he saw Barnes return the cigar to between his lips and take a deep drag. Steve winced then as he hefted another pile of manure into his wheelbarrow, the rough wooden handle of the shovel grating against blisters that were beginning to open up on his uncovered palm.

“Here.” Barnes said and Steve turned back to find the other man offering him a handkerchief. 

“What?” Steve asked, thrown. 

“For your hand.” Barnes explained and took a few steps closer, flicking the handkerchief over as if to make it more enticing. It was a pale blue colour, soft-looking and clean. 

Steve shook his head despite the sting of his palm. 

“I couldn’t.” he argued. The handkerchief looked far too high quality for Steve to wreck by using it to protect his hands while shovelling shit. 

“Yes you can.” Barnes countered, giving the handkerchief another flick. “I insist.” 

He stepped closer, careful of the mess Steve was working in and drew up when he was a mere few feet away. 

Steve bit his lip and held out his hand for the handkerchief. Barnes’ gaze dropped to Steve’s outstretched hand and he winced as he took in the raw, weeping mound blisters dotted across the skin of Steve’s palm. Instead of handing him the handkerchief - like Steve had expected - Barnes returned the cigar to the side of his mouth, stepped closer still and cradled Steve’s hand with his own. 

Steve tensed. Barnes’ hands weren’t smooth - he had done his own share of hard labour - but his touch was gentle as he dabbed at the worst of the blisters with a corner of the handkerchief. Steve flinched hard, hissing at the sting and Barnes huffed out an amused breath through his nose. Steve held his breath to keep from breathing in the smoke. 

“You never did a hard days graft before comin’ here, didja?” he asked, but his tone was more observant than mocking. 

The evidence between them, festering away on the softest parts of Steve’s hand, Steve knew he was in no position to lie. He shook his head. 

“You were right.” he replied, embarrassed by how soft and low his voice was. Barnes looked up at him, confusion tucking a crease between his eyebrows that Steve wanted to smooth out with his fingertips. His face flushed hard at the thought. Standing as close as they were, the difference in their heights was also pronounced and Steve dropped his gaze away from Barnes face to the solid expanse of bare chest at his eye line.

“When you said I wasn’t built for this sort of work.” he explained and then tilted his pink face back and watched as realisation slid across the other man’s face.  
Barnes took his handkerchief away and folded it before laying it gently across the worst blister, a raw red wound on at the base of Steve’s thumb and then deftly tying it in place. Steve grit his teeth as the motion pulled at the raw skin. 

“It’ll get easier.” Barnes said then, turning Steve’s hand over in his own, checking the handkerchief wouldn’t slip. “You won’t be shovellin’ shit forever.” 

Steve grinned. “Last day, actually.” 

Barnes looked up and let go of Steve’s hand, wiping his own palms across the back of his trousers. “Oh yeah?” he asked in a tone Steve couldn’t place. “Decided to go home?” 

Steve frowned. “No. I’m gonna help Frigga in the kitchens. I start tomorrow.” 

Barnes’ eyebrows shot up and for an instant, Steve could read all the things that Frigga had warned him that the men would say written in the surprised lines of Barnes’ expression. He clenched his jaw. He knew it’d be awfully bad manners to sock a fella after he’d just given you his hanky, but if Barnes said anything - 

“That’s great.” Barnes said quickly. “Frigga’s been drowning since the last lot took off.” He offered Steve a small smile. “Honest work too but it’ll definitely be easier on your hands.” 

Steve smiled tentatively in return. “That’s what I’m hoping.” he admitted, flexing his newly bound hand. He could still feel the ghost of Barnes touch. He swallowed. 

“Barnes!” 

The voice caused them both to jump and it wasn’t until Barnes took a hasty step backwards that Steve realised how close they’d been standing. 

Fury was standing in the entrance to the big top. “Barnes!” he called again. “A word?” 

Barnes plucked the cigar from his mouth and nodded over his shoulder to Fury. “Comin’, boss man.” he called back. 

He turned back to Steve and shrugged. “Duty calls.”

Steve ducked his chin to hide the enormity of his grin. “I’d best get back to it too if I hope to catch the show tonight.” 

“Second half, straight after the interval.” Barnes told him again and smiled when Steve laughed. 

“I’ll do my best.” Steve promised and then watched as Barnes turned and walked away, disappearing into the big tent.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shh, don’t speak.” Barnes said, softer this time. 
> 
> Steve could feel the other man’s breath on his ear, so hot and so intimate that it felt like a brand.

As the morning drew on, more and more people trickled into the lot and soon it was too difficult for Steve to manoeuvre his stinking wheelbarrow through the crowds, along the shortest route to where the manure was to be piled.

Instead he was forced to exit the menagerie from the back, trail around the hooch tent, and then skirt the back of the stall tents. It made the journey half as long again and by noon he was drenched in sweat and aching from the tips of his toes to the top of his sunburnt scalp. He had also come to the realisation that he would almost certainly miss the matinee and quite possibly the evening’s performance as well. The revelation did little to improve his bad mood. 

“You look dead on your feet and it ain’t even lunch.” Sam greeted him when Steve returned to the menagerie once more, wheelbarrow empty.

Steve grunted in reply and wiped the sweat from his brow along the sleeve of his shirt. The action left a dark, greasy mark across the fabric and despite the fact that it was his last clean shirt - Steve could not bring himself to care. 

“Frigga sent me from the kitchens.” Sam said then and held up a bundle of material. “She said she couldn't have you keel over from exhaustion so she’s packed you a lunch, you lucky beggar.” 

On cue, Steve’s stomach gave a loud rumble and Sam grinned. 

Steve crossed to where Sam was standing by the zebra’s carriage and took the bundle from the other man, sighing happily when the soft scent of cold meat wafted from within. 

“Thank-you.” he told Sam. “Have you eaten?” 

Sam nodded. “Frigga gave me a little something for agreein’ to see you fed. But I will hide out here for a minute while you eat.” He produced a mangled looking cigarette from behind his ears and placed it between his lips. 

Sam sunk to the ground then, his back against the large wheel of the carriage behind them. Steve realised that this was so he could not been seen from either entrance into the menagerie. He grinned and levered himself down beside the other man. 

“You have somewhere you're meant to be?” he asked, carefully folding back the hand towel in which Frigga had wrapped his lunch. Inside was a number of cold cuts and a hunk of bread. 

Sam laughed. “Always do. You don’t exactly get to clock out in this line of work but they can do without me for a short while.” He lit the cigarette with a match and took a deep drag, exhaling with a satisfied sigh. Steve turned his head away and swallowed around the tickle in his throat. 

“That’s a very fine bandage you got there.” Sam observed and when Steve looked back, he found Sam eyeing Barnes’ handkerchief. 

Steve bit his lip and clenched his fist around the hanky which was still tied abut his palm. The morning’s work had rendered it filthy but it was still obvious that it was finely made. 

“Where did you come across that?” Sam prodded. 

Steve popped a scrap of meat in his mouth and tried to appear nonchalant. After what Sam had told him about performers and roustabouts, he felt a little silly wearing Barnes’ hanky about his hand like some kind of token. Part of him wanted to lie but Sam was waiting and he couldn’t think of any plausible explanation quick enough. 

“Barnes.” he muttered finally and took another bite of his lunch so he didn’t have to look at Sam’s face. 

Silence stretched between them for a few moments until finally, Steve couldn’t bear it any longer and he glanced up at the other man’s face only to be met with an expression of disbelief. When Steve met his gaze, Sam appeared to do his best to school his expression into something more neutral and his mouth shut with a click of his teeth. 

Steve flushed and looked back at his lunch, suddenly not as hungry as he had been. 

“Well.” Sam said awkwardly. “He seems to have taken a shine to you after all. Just - be careful, I guess.”

Steve frowned. “Why would I need to be careful?” he asked but Sam was already levering himself to his feet. 

“Ain’t my place to say.” was all the other man said before he turned and left, leaving Steve to eat his lunch alone.

*

The milling crowd reached their peak an hour or so before the matinee began and the din of the lot was unlike anything Steve had heard before. The sounds of children shouting and yelling, the bells and whistles of the sideshows and the yell of the stall holders calling to the crowds to try their foods and buy their wares all mixed in with the seemingly ever presented cacophony of the band. Even inside the menagerie, walled off from the outside by thick, waterproof canvas, Steve’s ears rang from the noises of the busy lot. 

Suddenly the music dipped in volume and a voice boomed above all others. 

“Roll up! Roll up! Ladies and gentlemen and children of all ages!” 

Curious, Steve set his shovel against the side of the carriage he was cleaning out. The carriage’s occupants - two small white ponies - had been unloaded into the petting zoo for the morning along with the other child-friendly animals. The menagerie man, a large hulking man with a penchant for cigars even more acrid than Barnes’ and sideburns unlike any other man Steve had seen, had explained that animals would be returned to their carriages when the spec began to await their role in the show. “So get shovellin’ and don’t quit ’til your done.” he’d advised Steve before leaving him to it. 

The ponies carriage was the last that needed to be mucked out before the spec and for that, Steve was grateful. He felt dead on his feet. Gingerly, he eased himself down out of the carriage and crossed the menagerie to a gap in the canvas. Steve couldn’t see much for the crowds but on his podium and clad in his fine red jacket - Fury was hard to miss. 

“Welcome to Marvel’s Circus!” Fury’s voice boomed. “Fun for the whole family! See the amazing acrobats perform death-defying tricks on the high ropes! See he strongman wrestle a grizzly bear!” 

The crowds began to shuffle forward, towards the open mouth of the big top and Steve desperately longed to follow them. He looked down at his hand, still bound tight in Barnes’ handkerchief and tried to imagine how Barnes’ face would look, illuminated with the glow of the big top lights. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. If he didn’t get his work finished now, he wouldn’t be able to see the show that night either. He set his jaw and went to retrieve his shovel. 

*

If working while the band had been warming up was distracting, working while the show raged next door was almost impossible. Each collective gasp of the crowd made Steve’s heart leap into his throat despite the fact he had no idea what was going on. Steve was almost grateful when the menagerie man, Logan, returned and began to order him around. 

As the menagerie man, Logan was in charge of coordinating the animals during the show. He and a handful of roustabouts (none of whom Steve knew) were responsible for making sure the animals were where they needed to be to enter the Big Top or to allow for the exit of other animals when they had finished. 

Steve was responsible for making sure the animal’s carriages were mucked out between when they vacated them to perform and when they returned to them afterward. It was hot, smelly work. The lights from the Big Top as well as the combined body heat of the crowd seemed to permeate through the walls and heat the menagerie as well and soon, Steve was dripping with sweat and beginning to feel light headed. 

He clambered down from the carriage he had just finished sweeping out and leant his forehead against the wood, willing his head to stop spinning. He had to get the soiled straw out of the way before the act finished and the animals needed to be reloaded. He couldn’t even remember what animals went in this carriage. He swallowed   
and tried to breathe through the tightness twisting in his chest. If he panicked, he’d have an episode for sure. 

“Woah there.” A hand clapped him on the shoulder and Steve had to cling to the the carriage in front of him so that his knees didn’t buckle under the weight of it. 

“Jeez, Steve. You gotta sit down.” It was Sam. 

“M’fine.” Steve managed. “Jus’ gotta catch m’breath.” 

Sam scoffed. “Uh huh. And I’m the Queen of England. C’mon.” He slid his hand around Steve’s back, holding him under his arms. “C’mon. You need some fresh air. It’s stifling in here.” Gently, he coaxed Steve away from the carriage and towards the menagerie opening. 

“Riley!” Sam shouted then and Steve flinched away. “RIley! Grab Dum Dum and Jones and see to this mess, will ya? Stevie’s down for the count.” From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the men duck out between the canvas.

Steve’s vision danced. His feet looked like two blurry spots of shifting colour as he tried to move them across the ground. He shut his eyes and groaned. 

“That’s it.” Sam coaxed. “Just one foot in front of the other. Ain’t nothin’ to it.” 

“Are you askin’ me to dance?” Steve asked, confused. 

He heard Sam snort beside him. 

“I ain’t good at dancin’” Steve tried to explain. “I’d just step on your toes.” 

Sam laughed again. “You’re steppin’ on your own toes at the moment.” he observed but Steve kept his eyes resolutely shut, unwilling to battle with the double vision that was making his head pound. 

“Nearly there.” Sam told him and then, suddenly, blissfully cool air washed over his face. 

Steve tried to keep breathing normally but instinct took over and he gasped in a lungful of the fresh, sweet air. And then immediately began coughing when it caught in his lungs.

“Woah! Hey!” Sam cried. “Are you gonna puke?” 

Steve shook his head, trying to swallow around the coughing. He sagged in Sam’s hold, trying to lessen the tight sensation in his chest. “Ath’ma.” he wheezed. 

“Ah hell.” Sam grunted. “Sit down.”

Steve let his legs fold underneath himself and sat, his hand curling in the grass at his fingertips. The coughing had stopped but he still couldn’t get enough air. Sam dropped to his knees beside him. 

“C’mon Steve. You just gotta breathe.” Sam said. 

Steve knew Sam was trying to sound reassuring but Steve could hear the worry in his voice and, in his state, it only served to feed his own anxiety. 

“What’s going on?” Steve heard another voice.

“Ain’t none of your business, Barnes.” 

Surprised, Steve opened his eyes. He could see Barnes’ black boots standing a few feet away. He shut his eyes again. The mortification he felt was definitely secondary to his need to breathe but it was still there. If he hadn’t been at least half-convinced that he was already dying, he would have wished it outright. 

“M’fine!” he gasped. 

“He just needs to breathe.” Sam explained but his voice had gone an octave higher with panic. 

“Yeah, you look fine.” Barnes muttered, ignoring Sam.

Steve jumped when he felt a hand close around his arm and pull him backwards out of the ball he’d curled himself into. His eyes flew open just as his back hit something solid. Sam was in front of him, his expression a strange mix of panic and awe. 

“Lean back.” Barnes’ voice came from behind him and Steve realised that the solid thing he was resting against was Barnes’ chest. He tensed immediately, scrambling to sit forward but Barnes’ arms locked around him tight. 

Steve suddenly felt claustrophobic, like Barnes’ arms were forcing the breath out of his lungs. He clawed at the back of Barnes’ hands to get them off, to get away. He couldn’t breathe.

“I said: lean back.” Barnes said again and his tone held no room for argument. 

Steve allowed himself to lean back, wincing when he realised he was probably covering Barnes’ costume with shit and grime. His whole body shuddered when he tried to get enough air to apologise. 

“Shh, don’t speak.” Barnes said, softer this time. 

Steve could feel the other man’s breath on his ear, so hot and so intimate that it felt like a brand. Steve didn’t think he’d ever forget how it felt. Barnes’ hand trailed down his chest and rested across his stomach and Steve watched as Sam’s eyes widened even further and his friend’s head whipped from side to side, as if to check that none else was watching. 

“Now, breath with me.” Barnes told him and Steve shook his head, confused. 

“Breathe when I breathe.” Barnes explained. “When you feel my chest move, breath in and push yours out too. Ready? One.” 

Steve felt Barnes’ chest lift against his back, heard the whoosh of air in his ear as Barnes’ took a breath. He struggled to do the same. 

“That’s it.” Barnes told him. “That’s good. Hold it.”

Steve coughed and began to wheeze again. 

Barnes cursed. “That’s okay. It’s okay. We’ll try again. Ready? One.” 

He repeated the breath and so did Steve. This time Barnes did not make him hold the breath in his lungs for so long and he was able to exhale without coughing. 

“That’s great.” Barnes encouraged. “Again. Right down to your stomach. Down here.” He gave Steve’s stomach a soft pat and Steve almost jumped, suddenly reminded that he was wrapped in Barnes’ arms. His second breath was still a little shaky. 

“Again.” Barnes said.

Steve didn’t know how long it went on - Barnes holding him and coaching him through each breath with an inhale and exhale of his own - but slowly, it began to get easier to breathe. 

In an effort to distract himself from the heat against his back and the strong hold of Barnes’ arms, Steve focused on Sam who sat on his knees opposite them. As Steve’s breathing levelled out, Sam’s features lost the pinched look of panic but he still glanced about once in a while to check no-one was around. 

As his head cleared, Steve understood his friend’s paranoia. The position Barnes had him in wouldn’t be the easiest to explain. Weren’t right to hold another man, Steve knew. Not that Barnes was doing anything but saving his life but people got funny about two fellas getting close in ways that didn’t make sense to Steve. 

Boys were allowed to wrestle, pin one another down, get in scraps where they ended all pressed up together but they weren’t allowed to hug or be tender with each other. Didn’t seem right. Especially not to Steve. 

“Better?” Barnes’ voice pulled him from his thoughts and it took a moment for Steve realise that he was breathing quite steadily all on his own.

“Yeah.” he rasped, swallowing around the lingering tightness of his throat. He took another breath to test out his lungs, flooding with relief when it went in and out again smooth. “Yeah, thanks.” 

He noticed then that Barnes’ arms were still around him. He sat forward carefully and pulled himself out of the other man’s hold. Now exposed, his back felt chilled were it had been pressed against Barnes. Steve swallowed nervously. Sam was still watching them. Behind him, Steve felt Barnes stand.

“How did you know that would work?” Sam asked Barnes, standing as well. 

Steve turned and looked up at Barnes’ face for the first time since he’d arrived. Barnes shrugged. 

“My sister has asthma.” he explained. “Used to help her when it got bad.” 

He offered Steve a hand which Steve took, climbing gingerly to his feet. Standing brought him to eye level with Barnes’ chest and his stomach sank when he saw the mess he’d made of the other man’s costume. The grime and muck that had accumulated all over him throughout the day was now smeared across the front of Barnes’ red shirt and down along his sleeves where he had held Steve to him. 

“I ruined your shirt.” he said.

Barnes looked down at himself as if he’d just noticed. “Huh.” he hummed. “Ain’t no big thing. Don’t worry about it.” 

Steve frowned. “But what about…” He was cut off by a loud cheer from the Big Top. 

“Aw, hell.” Barnes said suddenly. “That’s my cue.”

He pulled the bottom of his shirt out from his trousers and then hauled the offending article off over his head in one fluent movement. 

“Here.” he said and thrust the shirt into Steve’s hands. “Take care of this, will ya? I gotta go on.” 

He ducked through the canvas flaps of the menagerie before Steve could say a word. 

Steve turned to Sam, who looked just as bewildered as he felt. Turning back around, he went to head after Barnes but Sam grabbed him by the wrist. 

“You walk back in there, you’re gonna get hauled back into workin’. C’mon. We’ll sneak through the performers entrance.” 

Steve followed, well aware that Sam kept looking back to check on him. His chest was still tight and his limbs felt weak but other than that and the ache that seemed to have settle in his bones, he felt steady. Sam lead him around past the rube entrance to a smaller tent which was tacked to the side of the Big Top in a similar fashion to the menagerie. 

“Keep you head low and your eyes to yourself. Technically, we ain’t allowed in here.” Sam warned and then pushed Steve through the split in the canvas. 

Steve did as he was told, only catching glimpses of what was going on in the tent as they skirted around its perimeter. From what Steve could tell, the tent a dressing area for the performers and during the five or so seconds it took he and Sam to make it to the edge of the Big Top - Steve saw more naked flesh than he’d seen outside of his own body in his entire life. His face felt like it was on fire by the time he and Sam ducked through into the Big Top. 

*

Stepping through the canvas into the Big Top was like stepping into another world. Steve was momentarily dazzled by the lights and the heat before looking up and taking in the sheer size of the tent. Grand stand style seating lined the walls, every inch packed with people and the ring at the centre of it all was awash with artificial lights. 

Steve could see that the big cats were already pacing around inside the ring, kept from the crowd by just a single layer of meshed wire that curved up about four metres into the air around the ring’s circumference. He couldn’t see Barnes.

He stumbled as Sam pulled him behind the grandstand. 

“Okay?” Sam asked, glancing down at Steve’s chest. 

Steve huffed. “I’m fine.” he protested despite how tight the closeness of the air made his chest feel. 

Sam gave him a sceptical look but dropped it. “We gotta stay outta sight.” he explained in hushed tones which Steve could barely hear over the swell of the band. “Ruins it for the masses if they see the grunt work behind the illusion. And if the rubes ain't happy, Fury ain't happy. But if we duck under the seating, we’ll be able to see your boy perform.” 

Steve spluttered. “He aint…we aren’t…”

Sam just raised the same sceptical eyebrow and turned to lead the way. 

They had to press themselves between the iron bones of the grandstand, weaving their way through toward the front. Steve throat caught around a bout of laughter when one of the rubes spilt their popcorn which overturned all over Sam’s head and was only able to stop when the same struggling child knocked over his drink and sticky, sweet lemonade cascaded down over them both. 

“Hush up.” Sam scolded but he was smiling as most of the lemonade had ended up on Steve. 

The tune the band was playing began to swell and Sam caught one of Steve’s wrists and hauled him forward. “Look here.” he instructed and Steve found that he was looking out at the ring from between the legs of two rubes. He could see most of the ring clearly, could see Khan and Dante pacing in wide circles around one another while the lionesses moved between them. Barnes was still nowhere to be seen. 

Suddenly the music cut out with a crash of the cymbals. The lights dimmed and there was a flash of bright light from the side of the ring, followed by a plume of thick white smoke. The crowd above them went crazy. Khan roared and Steve’s stomach flipped. 

The smoke cleared and in its wake stood Barnes, chest bare - save for the the strap of the meat tin slung across his shoulders - his arms spread wide and a whip clutched in his left hand. The smile on his face was wide and dangerous and his bare torso glistened with some sort of oil. He looked devastating. He looked feral. He looked every bit as deadly as the four big cats.

Steve couldn’t look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I was a bit tricksy with the chapter summary. Comments, con-crit and kudos more than welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Afterwards, Steve couldn’t seem to slow his heart rate down. He had seen Barnes interact with the big cats before but there had always been a protective barrier between them. During the show, Barnes was so close to them and completely outnumbered, vulnerable. Steve had watched the entire act with his heart in his mouth, gasping whenever one of the big cats got too close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include some sexual content, size difference kink and mentions of what could be argued to be minors participating in non-consensual sexual activities. Proceed with caution. 
> 
> Also, unbeta-ed as real-life got in the way of my fic writing at little this week. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Afterwards, Steve couldn’t seem to slow his heart rate down. He had seen Barnes interact with the big cats before but there had always been a protective barrier between them. During the show, Barnes was so close to them and completely outnumbered, vulnerable. Steve had watched the entire act with his heart in his mouth, gasping whenever one of the big cats got too close. 

The finale of the act finished with Barnes sitting on a stool with the three lions sitting on platforms behind him and Khan laying by his side with Barnes’ hand resting across his broad head like an armrest. Steve marvelled at Barnes’ ability to turn his back on the cats and trust them not to pounce. He cheered along with the rest of the crowd when Barnes stood and dispersed the cats once more, each doing a lap of the ring before disappearing out the enclosed run into the menagerie. 

Sam tugged on his hand. “C’mon. We gotta make tracks.” he urged.

Steve resisted for a moment, watching as Barnes dipped into a low bow before leaving the ring to thunderous applause. When he could no longer see Barnes, he let Sam lead him away, back through the grandstand and through a gap in the canvas into the open lot. 

“You’d best get yourself back and take it easy for the rest of the day.” Sam suggested and Steve nodded, too worn out by the events of the day to even attempt to argue. “Go on, I’ll make your excuses.”

Steve did hate feeling useless but in the aftermath of Barnes’ show, his attack and three days of hard labour - he was suddenly so tired that his limbs felt shaky. He dipped his head to Sam and turned back in the direction of their carriage.

He was half-way across the lot when he realised that he was still holding Barnes’ ruined shirt. He bit his lip, considering the garment and rubbing the silky material between his fingers. He wondered what it felt like against Barnes’ skin, against his chest, his nipples. 

Steve flushed hot at the thought, swallowing hard.

As he reached he and Sam’s carriage, a warm gust of wind blew made him aware of his own earthy scent. He wrinkled his nose in displeasure and placed Barnes’ shirt at the foot of his bed before stripping off his own. 

In the corner of the carriage, opposite the end of Sam’s cot, they kept a bucket of water which Sam fetched fresh every morning. Beside it sat two metal mugs and Sam’s shaving kit. Steve dipped his mug into the water and drank deeply from it before refilling it and tipping it through his hair as he hung his head out of the carriage’s open door. 

He used another mugful to douse his own filthy shirt, rubbing at the grimiest parts of it with a corner of the soap Sam used for shaving, before rinsing it with more water. His efforts did little to remove the grime from his shirt, instead spreading it through the once white fabric and straining it a murky brown. He sighed and hung the wet shirt over the foot of his cot. 

Steve looked down at Barnes’ shirt where it lay on his cot. He felt bad for having dirtied it, especially since he did not have the means to wash such fine material without ruining it completely. He picked up the garment again, toying with one of the large ornate buttons that lined the front. His mind jumped back to the first time he’d seen Barnes in the shirt and the way the buttons had glinted in the sun, the way Barnes’ muscled shoulders had pulled the material tight across them. 

Steve felt warm all over. He glanced over his shoulder, out through the open carriage door. There was none around. They were all over the far end of the lot, helping with the show. He sighed - he should be over helping as well, earning his place. He pushed aside the cold spark of inadequacy he felt in favour of the recklessness and latent adrenaline the was pulsing through him.

Watching Barnes under the lights had woken something in Steve that he had been fighting to keep dormant for a long while. He guessed it was the general exhaustion he felt and the chemistry that had seemed to spark up between he and Barnes but his mind was alive with the sort of thoughts that he’d always been too scared to admit to in confession on Sundays. He glanced over his shoulder again and, noting that he was still alone, lifted Barnes’ shirt to his face and inhaled deeply. 

The scent of the other man, all musk and spice, literally made Steve’s knees weak and he sat heavily on his cot, shirt still pressed to his nose. His mouth flooded wet and he swallowed heavily, sighing when it made Barnes’ scent stick in the back of his throat. It was almost as if Steve could taste the other man. He bit his lip and, with his free hand, plucked at the front of his trousers, easing the tight pull of the material away from his prick. He didn’t touch himself though. He never did.

If he touched himself, with those perverted thoughts in his head - it made it real. It meant that all the horrible names the children at school had ever called him were true. He’d always known he was different and he’d figured out early on that he couldn’t stop the thoughts (they snuck up on him) but - he reasoned - if he never acted on them, then it was fine. 

He licked his lips. And what had happened with Robert - that had been fine too. Because he hadn’t had a choice. He’d been taken advantage of, that’s what his mother had said. He was smaller and weaker and Robert had obviously overpowered him and it wasn’t his fault. That’s what she’d told the school principal, that’s what she’d told his father, that’s what she’d told Steve - even if she hadn’t been able to look him in the eye when she’d said it. 

However, what he hadn’t told her, was that he’d liked it. 

He flushed with shame at the thought even as his blood flared hot. He’d hated Robert - hated the way the other boy taunted him, the names he called him, hated the way he tripped him on the way to class and pushed his books out of his hands. He hated the way he’d never managed to land a punch on Robert’s stupid face and how easy it was for Robert to sidestep and then shove Steve into the dirt.

But he’d liked how much bigger Robert was. How solid the other boy was at only fifteen. He’d liked it when Robert had cornered him in the lavatory and used that bulk to crowd him against the wall between the urinals. He’d liked the way Robert had used his strong hands to pull inelegantly at Steve’s trousers and shirt and then his own, until Robert’s stiff prick had branded a hot line across his stomach. He’d liked how big that was too. 

Steve gnawed on his bottom lip, hands fisted in Barnes’ shirt and the sheets of his cot respectively. He breathed in another deep lungful of Barnes’ scent and decided that Barnes smelt infinitely better that Robert had. His prick ached behind his trousers and he squirmed, trying to ignore it. 

A warm gust of wind washed over Steve, reminding him that the door of the carriage was still open. He opened his eyes and thought for a moment. Did he dare continue or did he need to simply douse himself with another mugful go cold water and sleep off the fever that had settled over him the second Barnes had strode into the ring? He glanced at the shirt, bunched in his palm and made up his mind. 

He stood and hobbled awkwardly to the mouth of the carriage. Almost the entirety of the wall opened up and the door was great sliding heavy beast of a thing but Steve managed, muscles protesting, to pull it closed far enough that his cot was out of the direct line of sight to any that may pass by. He returned to his cot then and climbed onto it, hands and knees, gathering Barnes’ shirt up as he stretched out along his front. 

The press of the cot’s firm mattress against the front of his trousers was torture and he breathed out harshly as his prick throbbed inside his briefs. He reached up and grabbed his wash cloth from the metal headboard of his cot and, lifting his hips, shucked it down the front of his trousers, under his briefs. It wouldn’t do to mess them up and it would be hard to explain why he needed to wash them when laundry wasn’t for another few days. 

The terrycloth was rough against his sensitive skin but the friction was blissful. Steve closed his eyes. This was how he’d done it at home. He’d lay on his stomach with his aching prick trapped between his stomach and the mattress then, if he was worked up enough, his hips seemed to move of their own accord. He shifted his legs apart a little further and swallowed hard as the movement caused his weight to settle a little more heavily on the heat between his legs. 

Blindly, he sort out the soft material of Barnes’ shirt and drew it closer to his face. He breathed in its heady scent again and gave a soft gasp as his hips gave their first involuntary hitch. Steve wondered what it wound feel like if he was stretched out on top of Barnes, his prick between their stomachs and Barnes’ throat at his mouth. His senses would be followed with the other man’s scent, with his taste. Steve shivered and his hips hitched again. 

Robert had pressed him so hard against the wall that Steve had bruised all along his back for a week afterwards. He thought about how strong Barnes’ arms had been around him early, holding him steady as he struggled to breathe. His chest ached at the memory, as did his prick. Barnes was definitely strong enough to hold him down. Steve’s hips jumped again, delicious friction simultaneously fuelling and easing the ache in his pants. 

Steve could imagine Barnes’ standing where Robert had stood, could imagine Barnes’ hands on him, pushing him back, holding him still, making him take it. Steve hadn’t felt a hand on his stiff prick - not even his own - until Robert had finished with a groan and then used his own spunk to coat his hand before wrapping it around Steve’s aching cock and fisting it hard. In his mind now, it’s Barnes’ hand wrapped around him, coaxing him - too fast, too hard - towards his end. 

His hips set an unsteady rhythm against the mattress. If he thought about it too much, he had to stop. He couldn’t argue that it was involuntary if he thought about going faster, thought about trying to roll his hips harder. Luckily, Barnes’ had taken over his thoughts, occupied every corner of his mind. 

He thought of the hard line Barnes’ had made against his back and groaned softly, picturing all that muscle stretched out along his back, shoving his hips down harder into the cot with each roll of Barnes’ own. His mind snagged on that thought and wouldn’t let go.  
Barnes would cover him completely, hold him down just with the width of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest. Steve wouldn’t have a choice except to lay there and…and… 

Steve finished with a choked off moan, biting down hard on the thin pillow under his face. The cloth beneath him grew wet against his skin and he cringed when his muscles finally released and he sagged into the mess he had made. 

He lay completely still for a moment, emotions warring as they always did when he allowed himself to let go like this, allowed the perverted thoughts to take over. He swallowed down the guilt and the uneasiness in his stomach, trying not to linger on the thoughts of Barnes’ that had filled his head only moments before. 

On trembling arms, he pushed himself up and retrieved the cloth from his briefs, wincing at the smell that lingered. He climbed from his cot and retrieved another mug of water from the bucket. His legs shook as he forced the door of the carriage open and he had to sit while he washed out the cloth. He couldn’t allow it to stain. 

The warm breeze brought the noises from the Big Top across the lot and Steve could hear the band playing and the crowd cheering. He wondered for an instant what Barnes was doing - if he’d come looking for Steve after the show - but quickly shook his head to dismiss the thought when his stomach rolled with disgust at himself. He was sick. 

Steve took a deep steadying breath and stood. He hung the wet cloth by his shirt and climbed back onto the cot, doing his best to ignore the crumpled sheets by burying himself under them. He lay his head on his pillow and watched the flags of the stalls and tents fluttering in the distance until his eyelids grew heavy and closed. 

And if there were tears on his lashes, then there was none there to see. 

*

When Steve woke - hours later - he was not alone though he did not realise it at first. 

He yawned and stretched, eyes coming open slowly. The first thing his sleep-fogged brain noticed was that it was dark,well past twilight and the second was the figure sitting in the open mouth of the carriage, smoking. 

“Sam?” he asked as he sat up, his voice rough. 

“Nope.” said the figure and Steve’s pulse skipped. 

He reached over to the crate beside his bed and lit the oil lamp there. 

Barnes took the cigar from between his lips and smiled at Steve over his shoulder and Steve’s pulse skipped again. Barnes butted the cigar out on the floor of the carriage and tucked it back in his pocket. He stood then, turning to face Steve, and Steve was suddenly achingly aware that he was still shirtless. He tugged the edge of his covers up around himself. 

Barnes smirked. “You missed my show.” he said, sitting on the edge of Sam’s cot. “Both of them in fact.” 

Steve shook his head. “I caught the matinee.” he confessed and Barnes’ eyebrows drew up. “Came back here to rest after.” 

“What did you think?” Barnes asked.

Steve opened his mouth but found no words to accurately express how his pulse raced at the mere memory of watching Barnes under the lights of the Big Top. He shut it again when Barnes’ smirk blossomed into a grin. 

“That good, huh?” 

Steve could only nod dumbly and Barnes chuckled. 

“Well, Fury damn near tore me a new one for going out half-naked.” Barnes said. “Supposed to be a family show and all that.” 

Barnes was dressed in his regular trousers and white shirt and his dark hair was damp, curling loose around his temple and behind his ears. He looked softer than Steve had ever seen him before. 

“So I came to get my shirt back but…” Barnes inclined his head slightly and Steve followed the other man’s meaningful glance. 

Barnes shirt lay beside him in the cot, tucked under hand and where he’d been laying whilst he slept. He’d been snuggling with Barnes’ damn shirt. He flushed hot all over and scrambled to pull the shirt out from between his covers. 

“Oh damn.” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I wash trying to work out how to wash it and then I passed out.” He held out the shirt for Barnes but couldn’t quite meet the other man’s eye. 

When Barnes took the shirt back his fingers brushed Steve’s and Steve felt his cheeks heat a little warmer. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t wash it.” he said again. 

Barnes shrugged. “Ain’t no big thing. Frigga usually handles the costumes. Woman’s a marvel.” 

Steve smiled at that. She was. 

“You feelin’ okay?” Barnes asked then and Steve was so caught off guard that he met Barnes’ gaze. 

“Your asthma.” Barnes explained when Steve drew blank. “Becky’s chest used to play up after she had an attack, is all.” 

Steve’s chest was aching but he was used to it. He’d be fine by the morning or at least he hoped he would. 

“It’s fine.” he said, wincing when his voice came out a little ragged. 

Barnes let it go though. “Glad to hear it. Think you gave your friend quite a scare.” 

“Sam? Yeah. I guess I did.” 

There was a beat of silence between them before Steve remembered himself.

“Thank-you.” he blurted, too quick and a little unclear. “Thank-you, I mean. For earlier. You, uh, well, you sort of saved my life.” 

Barnes blinked and sat up a little straighter, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Naw.” he began but then paused, as though remembering how far gone Steve had been and Steve bit his lip at the idea that Barnes’ was thinking about how Steve had felt in his arms.

“Well, maybe.” Barnes said. “But I’m just glad I was there.” 

“Me too.” Steve admitted and could not help but return the smile that Barnes graced him with. 

He felt foolish, a second later, when Barnes’ smile dropped suddenly. 

“There was another reason I came by.” Barnes said then and his tone made Steve’s stomach twist tight. 

Steve waited for Barnes to continue, not trusting his voice. 

“Some coppers came round after the matinee. Said they were looking for someone.” 

Steve frowned, confused. Barnes studied him for a moment. 

“Someone who looked an awful lot like you.” he explained and from his pocket pulled a battered photograph, showing it to Steve. 

Steve felt his jaw swing loose with shock. It was a picture of him, standing stiff, dressed in a suit that was at least a size too big for him.  
His mother had kept the photograph on the mantel above the tiny fire place in their sitting room. She had thought he looked dashing in it. 

“They had a couple with them.” Barnes told him and Steve’s gaze snapped from the photograph back to Barnes, panic rising. 

“Your parents.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! Kudos and comments more than welcome! 
> 
> If you like, you could also come hang with me on [Tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fat-hippie)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Welcome ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls to Marvel’s Circus! Tonight we hope to shock and amaze you, dazzle and confound you, entertain and entice you with our show! We have trapeze artists, acrobats, contortionists and clowns! Jugglers, dare devils and freaks of all shapes and sizes! We have big cats! Elephants! Grizzly bears! Yes, we’ve got almost anything that could take your fancy! So put your arm around your dame and hold onto your hat because the show is about to begin!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, so sorry for the lateness of this chapter. Real life just got in the way this week.

Steve's chest clenched, panic flaring cold in his gut. 

"My parents?" He asked, voice strained. 

Barnes was watching him carefully and gave a small nod. Steve felt frozen, both by the Barnes' news and the penetrative stare the other man had pinned on him. He could not meet Barnes' gaze, not while he sat bare chested and dumbstruck. Instead he watched the light of the oil lamp flicker on the carriage wall behind Barnes. He almost wished the other man would leave.

Suddenly a thought struck him and the cold, uncomfortable feeling in his gut clawed its way up into his chest, where it settled hot and sudden, seizing his next breath tightly in his lungs. 

"Did you tell them I was here?" He asked, panic making his voice high. 

Barnes looked confused, his eyebrows drawing in close.

"Did you tell them?" Steve demanded. 

"No." Barnes told him. "I ain't a rat." 

Relief flowed through Steve like a cool water, starting in his chest and trickling into his limbs. He put a hand to his chest and felt his heartbeat race unevenly against his palm. He tried to ignore the way his other hand trembled against the covers piled in his lap. 

"Did anybody else tell them?" He asked. 

Barnes shook his head. "Not that I know of." He said. "Smarmy bastards only wanna talk to the performers, ya know? And not too many of them know your face." 

Steve took another steadying breath. "What did you tell 'em?" 

"Said I hadn't ever seen your ugly mug before in my life." Barnes told him, tone forced deliberately light. "Fury backed me up." 

Steve's eyes snapped to Barnes face. "Fury?" He asked. Fury knew his face. "Why -?" 

"He owes me some favours." Barnes said but didn't elaborate. 

Steve did not know how to respond. 

Barnes filled the silence for him. "Way I see it, you left for a reason." He told Steve. "And from what you told me, it wasn't one that could be reconciled in a hurry. Now I don't pretend to understand why anyone would walk away from a proper home and their family but I figure that whatever makes someone do something like that - it's big, bigger than I care to be involved in." 

Steve swallowed hard around the emotion building in his throat. He hadn’t thought his parents would look for him. After the weeks of silence, his mother’s sad eyes and his father’s misplaced anger, Steve had only thought he’d be doing them a favour by leaving. He didn’t understand why they would try to bring him home at all - not when they’d worked so hard to alienate him from it in the first place. 

And now, Barnes - someone he’d known for less than a week - was sat opposite him, telling him he didn’t care what Steve had done that was bad enough to estrange him from his own family. It took Steve a moment to wrap his mind around the fact that the level of acceptance Barnes was offering him was more than his own flesh and blood had done. 

Then again, Barnes didn’t know what he had done or what he was. Steve sent up a silent prayer to a God that he wasn’t sure was listening - not to a sinner like him anyway - that Barnes never, ever found out. 

Barnes was still watching him. 

“Thank-you.” Steve said, mustering as much sincerity as he could into the words. “Thank-you for not ratting me out. I can’t…they’re not…” he trailed off as the lump of emotion in his throat shifted. “I can’t go home. I really…it’s not my home anymore.” 

Barnes shrugged. “This train has been my home since I was pink, fresh and screamin’. It’s seen a lot of people come and go and I share it with some unsavoury types. You seem a decent fella. It ain’t no hardship takin’ you in as well.”

Steve tried to blink away the tears that sprung, burning, into the corners of his eyes. When that failed to keep them at bay, he ducked his head and wiped at his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. When he looked up again, Barnes was watching the lamp, giving him some semblance of privacy as his emotions momentarily overwhelmed him. 

“That means a lot to me, Barnes.” he said quietly because, hell, he was already crying - a little honesty wasn’t going to embarrass him more than he already was. 

Barnes shrugged again but didn’t look way from the lamp. “Ain’t no big thing.” he muttered. “Just true.” 

He stood suddenly and Steve had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze. 

“You should get some more sleep.” Barnes told him. “You’re gonna have to be up at the devil’s side of dawn if you’re working the kitchens tomorrow.”

Steve could not help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “No more shit shovellin’.” he said, basking in the idea. 

Barnes smiled as well and then turned and crossed to the carriage door which was still half cracked. “G’night punk.” he said before levering himself out of the carriage and heaving the door closed. 

“Jerk!” Steve called back, smile blossoming into a grin. 

It wasn’t until he’d rolled over and pulled the covers to his chin once more that he realised that Barnes had taken the photograph with him. 

*

The next morning, Steve woke to the most horrendous sound he had ever heard. Loud, shrill and jarring it pierced through his dreams and startled him awake so quickly that he felt dizzy. 

“Jesus H. Christ himself.” Sam was muttering from his cot. “You better adapt fast-like because I ain’t wakin’ up to that fuckin’ thing ever damn day. Goddamn it. Take five fuckin’ years off my life, I swear…” 

The noise was emanating from a rusted looking alarm clock that sat on the crate between their cots. The hands on its face indicated that it was only a few minutes past four o’clock in the morning and it took Steve three attempts to shut it off and stop its skull-permeating trill. 

“Can’t believe I thought it was a good idea.” Sam muttered under his blankets when it was finally quiet enough to hear him. “Last time I do you any fuckin’ favours, Rogers. Get yo’ arse dressed and out so I can go back to sleep, can you?” 

Steve rubbed at his sleep-sore eyes. “Ain’t you usually up this at this time anyway?” 

“There’s a big difference between four-am and five-am,” Sam told him. “One I intended to spend sleeping so get out.” 

Steve huffed a laugh and dressed as quickly and quietly as he could. Sam was already snoring again by the time he slipped out of the carriage door and into the brisk early morning air. The lot was quiet and still. Smoke plumed from some of the smaller tents but Steve saw no other sign of life as he made his way to the Mess. 

Frigga was waiting for him and greeted him with a smile. 

“Good morning Steve. You’ve done well to be here so early.” 

Steve smiled back. “Sam found us an alarm clock.” he admitted as he failed to suppress a yawn.

Frigga laughed gently. “You’ll get used to the early mornings.” she promised. 

She lead him through the dinning area of the Mess to a smaller tent behind the serving station. The walls of the smaller tent were lined with two gas-fed ovens, three stove tops piled high with huge steel pots and pans and two sinks as well a number shelves that housed stacks upon stacks of plates, saucers and tin mugs. Just from looking, Steve could tell there was a lion’s share of work needed to make the place hum. 

“Fully staffed, the kitchen holds six.” Frigga told him. “But I haven’t had six permanent hands since Loki was small.” She shook her head. “Everybody wants to eat but no-one wants to help.”

“How have you managed by yourself?” Steve asked, staring at the plates and saucers and thinking about how many people lined the long tables in the Mess at meal times. 

“Fury usually ropes a few of the men into help.” Frigga told him. “But they aren’t ever pleased to be doing so. Certain… connotations come with working in the kitchens.” It was another warning. Steve could tell from the careful inflection in her tone. 

The skin on the back of Steve’s neck prickled uncomfortably as guilt-ridden flashes of the night before flickered through his mind. He cleared his throat. “You mentioned that. But I’m not really suited to the hard labour the rest of the fellas do and I want to earn my way.” It hurt to admit but the smile she graced him with worked to smooth the shame in his chest. 

“The men don’t understand that we work just as hard in here.” she told him. “Especially when we’re under-staffed. Here, let me show you how the ovens work.”

*

Steve spent the next few hours fetching boxes from the carriage where Frigga locked up the food stuff supplies, stirring the huge pots of porridge and fetching wood for the kitchen’s two fires over which Frigga cooked the rustic loaves of bread for lunch. By the time people started to wander into the Mess, ready for their breakfast, Frigga had Steve slicing the vegetables for the evening’s stew and he was enjoying the ripe scent of tomatoes as they split open under his knife. It sure beat shovelling elephant dung. 

“Steve!” Frigga called. “Can you please come and help me serve?”

Steve left the tomatoes and joined her. She had set up two of the large pots of porridge either side of the bain-marie and was already ladling spoonfuls of it onto the trays she was handed. Steve took up position behind the spare pot and did the same. Most people gave him a smile as he handed their trays back, some even murmured thanks. All of them looked tired. Steve could empathise. After the long hours he had worked the day before and his attack, his muscles ached in a way that was becoming almost normal for him and his eyes burned from lack of sleep. 

He was just smothering yet another yawn with the back of his hand when another tray was handed to him. Steve looked up and Barnes smiled at him. 

“Mornin’”

Steve bit his lip to keep his own smile at bay even as he felt his cheeks heat and his heart rate skip a little faster. Barnes’ hair was still mused from sleep and he was yet to shave but he looked good. Better - Steve thought - than he had right to so early in the day. 

“Mornin’.” Steve replied and slopped a ladle full of porridge into the centre of Barnes’ tray. 

Barnes did not move to take the tray back but instead raised an eyebrow at the oats and then looked back up at Steve. “I’m a growing lad, doncha know.” he said as his smile shifted into a smirk. 

Steve gnawed on his lip harder, willing his smile away. “You and most of the other fellas here.” he replied. “Frigga says everyone gets one spoonful.” 

Barnes’ smirk shifted again as Barnes widened his eyes imploringly. “Please, Steve.” he asked, voice soft. “Are you sure I couldn’t have just a teensy bit more?” 

Steve could not help but laugh. “You ain’t fooling anyone with those puppy-dog eyes.” he told Barnes, snickering when Barnes’ expression grew even more pronounced. “Take your grub and quit holdin’ up my line.” 

He thrust the tray back at Barnes and the other man took it from, shoulders drooping comically. 

“Where’s the love, Rogers?” he asked, tone deliberately hurt. “You got no room for love in that tiny chest of yours? Is that it?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. A few days ago, a jibe like that from Barnes would have got his back up but now, he knew the other man was only teasing. 

“That’s right.” he told Barnes. “Ain’t no room in there for nothin’ but my black little heart and ruddy lungs.” 

Barnes laughed quietly. “You’re a punk.” he told Steve and shuffled away to get his coffee. 

“Jerk.” Steve mumbled under his breath as he watched him go. 

But the smile of Steve’s face could not be shifted, not even when Sam - apparently still grumpy from their abrupt wakeup — told him he looked a ‘damned fool’ smiling that hard at ‘sparrow’s fart of dawn’. Steve could only laugh and then flush a little when he looked over at Barnes and found the other man watching him as he sipped from his coffee. 

Steve swallowed and turned back to his pot. 

*

Steve spent the rest of the day learning just what Frigga had meant when she told him they worked just as hard in the kitchen as the men did in the Lot. Thankfully, it was a different kind of work - the most strenuous task Steve was expected to do was collect multiple buckets of water to boil for the dishes, which all had to be washed by hand - and despite his issues the day before, his lungs managed fine. 

Frigga played the radio as they worked and when the day begun too heat up just before the lunchtime rush, she pinned open the sides of the kitchen tent and a soft breeze blew through, swirling the music around Steve’s ears as he readied the soup to serve. It was the most pleasant day Steve had experienced in a long time.

As dusk fell and the Lot began to come to life in time for the evening’s show, Frigga shooed him away. 

“Working here almost a week and you haven’t even seen the spec. I can mange for a few hours. Just make sure you are back in time for dinner.” 

Steve just nodded and headed out, guilt sitting low in his stomach as he neglected to mention that he had seen at least some of the show the day before. Dum Dum was manning the entrance to menagerie and tipped his bowler to Steve as he ducked through the split in the canvas. 

“Evenin’, lad.” the big man greeted him. 

“Evenin’.” Steve replied. “Not working the hooch tent tonight?” 

Dum Dum threw his head back and laughed heartily. “No. That frog Dernier is as stubborn as a mule. Won’t swap duties with anyone.” 

Steve grinned, hiding his amusement with his hand as he pretended to scratch at his chin. 

“We’re all headin’ there after dinner though.” Dum Dum continued. “You should come too.” 

Steve flushed, hard. “Oh. I don’t know. I gotta help Friga clean up from dinner.” he said before he realised how he sounded and hurried to correct himself: “I mean, I’d love too, but I might be busy.” 

Dum Dum nodded. “No rest for the wicked.” he told Steve with a wink. “We’ll drop by the kitchens after dinner and see if you’re free at any rate.” 

Steve flushed harder at the thought of Dum Dum telling Frigga that they were dragging Steve off to watch the naked girls dance in the hooch tent. “Sounds swell.” he said anyway but his voice was drowned out as the band clattered to life in the Big Top beside them. 

The show was starting.    
*

Steve slipped into the big top by the entrance that the animals came through, ducking behind the seating as quickly as he was able. Rubes were already lining the seats, the smell of their popcorn and salted nuts filling the heavy air beneath the grand stand. Steve picked his way to the front carefully, dodging spilt drinks and the waste left behind from the previous shows, until he found a clear spot where he could balance on one of the steel cross bars and see out between two sets of legs. 

As the band roared to its crescendo, Fury walked into the ring. The set of his shoulders and the long, authoritarian roll of his gait commanded attention. He was dressed in his vibrant red suit jacket, black slacks and boots and a tall top hat. As he reached the middle of the spec, the house lights dimmed and he was lit by a single spot light. 

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls to Marvel’s Circus! Tonight we hope to shock and amaze you, dazzle and confound you, entertain and entice you with our show! We have trapeze artists, acrobats, contortionists and clowns! Jugglers, dare devils and freaks of all shapes and sizes! We have big cats! Elephants! Grizzly bears! Yes, we’ve got almost anything that could take your fancy! So put your arm around your dame and hold onto your hat because the show is about to begin!” 

Steve started violently as suddenly two bodies flew past Fury, their feet almost knocking off his top hat. Two more spotlights flared to life and illuminated two trapeze artists already sailing back into the rafters of the Big Top before they let go of their swings and flung themselves onto the next. Steve craned his neck to see but he could only see glimpses of the performers when they swung low enough for him to catch sight of them between the bodies lining the seats. However, he could tell by each swell of music from the band and each shuddering gasp from the crowd that their stunts were growing increasingly shocking with each fall and catch. 

He longed to sit amongst the rubes and be able to watch the show in its entirety, not segmented into what he was able to see from between the seats. Surely he could sit in the grandstand and lose himself in the crowd - no-one would have to know. But then Steve looked down at himself, at his shirt that was covered in spills from the kitchen and stains from earlier in the week. He raised an arm and sniffed, wincing when he could smell himself. Who was he kidding? There was no way he could sit amongst people who were dressed in their bests for a night out and not stick out like a sore thumb. He sighed. 

At the finales of their act, the trapeze artists dismounted in a series of flips and turns and landed back to back in the centre of the ring. Steve suddenly recognised the boy, Peter, and who he assumed was Wade. He remembered them from his first day in the Mess. The pair took a bow and then flipped onto their hands. walking in large wide circles around one another as the audience clapped and cheered. 

Wade then lowered his feet to the ground until his was completely bent over, his stomach to the sky. Peter walked over to him, as steady on his hands as he was on his feet and flipped up so that he landed with his feet on Wade’s elongated shoulders. Steve winced, drawing in a sharp breath but Wade’s expression did not change even as Peter moved to balance himself on one foot, braced against Wade’s sternum. From there, the pair took turns into bending themselves into an array of seemingly impossible poses, balancing on one another just to make each pose all the more difficult. The crowd ooh-ed and ahh-ed with each shift and burst into applause when Peter and Wade finally found their feet again and took identical, low, sweeping bows. 

As the made their way off, three clowns tumbled into the ring, done up in mismated trousers and colourful suspenders. The faces of the two smaller clowns were painted in exaggerated and comical approximations of how Steve had seen some women do. Colourful eyelids, rouge, wide comical lips and ruby red noses. The third wore a mask. They tumbled around and around, bumping into each other and fighting ridiculously as the crowd snickered and whooped. Even Steve could not help the smile the broke across his face as he watched them - particularly when they seemed to attempt some of Peter and Wade’s more difficult contortions, tying themselves in knots and falling over themselves and each other repetitively. 

Suddenly a woman entered the ring, pretending to scold the clowns. Steve frowned. He had seen the redhead in the Mess but he did not know her name nor what her part in the spec was. He watched her interaction with the clowns and scoffed when the clowns seemed to challenge her to a juggling contest. The lead clown took up three batons and juggled them effortlessly, one over the other, up and under. The woman pretended to be unimpressed and caught the batons when they were unceremoniously thrown to her, spinning them up into an even fancier version of how the clown had juggled them. 

The clown demanded them back and one of his peers threw in two more, much to the crowd’s delight. Once again, the clown juggled them effortlessly before giving them to the woman. Again, she out did him. The clown threw up his hands and then conferenced with the other two clowns while the woman continued to juggle, hooking the batons around her back and underneath her legs. 

Finally, the lead clown motioned for the woman to throw the batons back which she did. Once he was in possession of the batons again, the clown motioned to the smallest clown who drew out a lighter and then - to Steve and the crowd’s amazement - lit each end of the batons on fire before the lead clown begun to spin them through the air once more. 

The crowd went wild, assuming that he had won. But the woman motioned for the flaming batons back, catching them and once again, upping what the clown had been able to do. The fire spun through the air, whizzing past her face and limbs as she showed off each trick that he had managed and more. Finally, she threw one baton back to him and he yelped, leaping out of the way and dousing the flaming stick with a squirt of water from a bottle which he had used earlier to douse his comrades. 

The next baton went to the smallest clown who juggled it comically between his hands until it too was doused by the jug, resulting in the clown holding it to also be soaked. The crowd howled with laughter, watching delightedly as the red-haired woman threw a third flaming baton at the clowns and watched them scramble as she continued to juggle the remaining two. 

The clowns readied themselves then, water jug trained on the woman and their hands up, waiting to catch the batons. However, the woman did not throw them. Instead she brought the forth to her lips and swallowed the flames around it, extinguishing them in her mouth. 

Steve gasped and his hand that was not holding onto the rail where he sat flew to cover his mouth as he watched, awed, as the woman repeated the motion with the final baton. The two smaller clowns fled the ring, hands covering their mouths and wailing in imagined pain. The crowd bust into another round of applause as the lead clown and the red-haired woman faced off in the centre of the spec. 

Suddenly, the clown reached up and pulled off his mask as well as the over size shirt and pants he’d worn, revealing a black leotard just like that which the woman wore. The crowd fell silent. The woman took as step back as if shocked and when she did, the two smaller clowns leapt from the unlit shadows and grabbed her by her arms, pulling her back against a red board and securing her in place with straps across her neck, waist, wrists and ankles. 

She struggled as though she were trying to get away, pulling harder against her binds as the man in the leotard stepped closer and took a box from one of his minions. The man retreated then, opening the box and showing its contents to the crowd. Steve swore. Knives. It was a box of knives. 

The man stopped several long paces away from the board and took out the first knife, twisting it so that the lights of the Big Top caught on its surface and ran along its sharp edge. Then, suddenly, he flicked his wrist towards the woman. There was a scream from somewhere in the crowd. The man turned to the approximate direction of the noise, back to the woman on the board, and showed the crowd the knife which was still safely in his hand. He had only pretended to throw it. 

Steve sighed with relief. 

However, a second later the breath caught in his throat as the man, still facing away from the woman, flicked the knife backwards with twitch of his wrist. It sped through the air and buried itself, blade first, mere inches from the red-haired woman’s neck. Steve almost feel off of his perch and he heard a rube above him swear. 

The next knife pierced the board just below the woman’s left armpit.

The next, the board between her thighs. 

On and on it went until she was almost completely outlined by the black hilts of the knives. 

Steve felt dizzy. The crowd didn’t seem to know whether to cheer or yell in alarm. Finally, the man in black was out of knives. He approached the woman and touched her cheek in some sick caricature of a lover’s caress. Then he reached behind the board to which she was attached, drew out an apple and sat it on top of her head. 

Steve could barely believe his eyes when the next two items that the man in black retrieved were a bow and arrow. He wasn’t going to…He couldn’t…

Steve watched on in horror as the man crossed the spec until he was almost at the other side of the ring before he turned again, put the arrow to the bow and lined up his shot. Steve slammed his eyes shut, unable to watch. The crowd had gone so quiet that he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. It seemed like an eternity before the awful silence was broken by the cheering of the crowd. 

Steve open his eyes and looked. The apple was pierced through its centre with a long white arrow and the woman was fine. He let out a shaky breath and slid from his perch, needing his feet on the ground so that he could steady himself. 

The rest of the show passed in much the same fashion - the riskier acts interwoven with comedic relief, artfully planned so that the crowd could catch their breath. The first act finished with an illusion act. A tall dark haired man turned scarves into doves and doves into rabbits before he, himself, disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. The crowd were spell bound and for a moment after the act had finished, they remained silent as if they had forgotten to cheer. 

Fury returned to the ring then and advised the crowd that they take a moment in order to prepare themselves for the second half of the show and Steve’s fingers went tight around the support beam beside him. 

Barnes was on next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ten points to anyone who can guess who the red-haired woman, the creepy clown/ marksman and the tall, dark magician are. 
> 
> Kudos, con-crit and comments are more than welcome! I apologise again for the tardiness of this chapter. 
> 
> Feel free to come whine to me about it on [Tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fat-hippie)
> 
> Next chapter: Barnes' act in detail and Steve's first encounter with the hooch tent.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She rolled her hips against his lap and Steve’s breath left him in a whoosh. Carter leaned back and pressed another kiss to his cheek. 
> 
> “Unhook my bra.” she told him and he choked on the breath he was trying to get back. 
> 
> “What?!” he gasped. 
> 
> “My brassier.” she explained. “Unhook it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I apologise profusely for the lateness. The school term is finishing up and shit is hectic. Plus, I am about to head overseas for two weeks. Still - no excuses! I aim to have another instalment up before the weekend finishes.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Warning: the end of this chapter may be a little triggering for some as Steve is kissed with out his full consent.)

The rubes grew restless during the interval and the grandstand above Steve’s head creaked and groaned as they moved up and down the stairs. Over the top of their chatter, the vendors shouted the prices of the treats they carried in trays about their necks. Somewhere a child began to cry. Steve had to move twice when the gaps he had found were filled by people sitting down. 

However, it wasn’t long before the house lights dimmed and the crowd grew quiet once more. Fury returned to the centre of the ring which was, Steve noted, now lined with strange low platforms.

“Ladies and gentlemen, during our next act we ask you not to make any sudden movements.”

Even from where he was, Steve could feel the energy ripple through the crowd. 

“We ask you not to scream,” Fury continued. 

The band started up, soft and slow, and Steve recognised the tune from the day before, knew how the music would build before it began to. 

Fury was striding across the ring towards the animal entrance and soon disappeared from Steve’s line of sight. 

“But please, welcome to the ring the king of the jungle, Dante!” 

Steve flinched back as the young lion burst into the ring before slowing to a rolling trot. The crowd gasped and ooh-ed. 

“Oh my goodness!” exclaimed a feminine voice from above Steve.

The two lioness trotted out into the ring then, greeted by more awed cooing from the crowd. They paced with Dante and Steve could see the people in the front town lean back from the ring as the lions passed were they sat. 

“And last but not least, please welcome - Khan!”

Steve heard the tiger before he saw him as Khan entered the a roar that echoed through the Big Top and drowned out the band. The crowd sat stunned for a moment before they answered Khan with a cheer of their own. The noise seemed to spur the tiger on and he roared again as he reached the centre of the ring, his teeth glinting in the lights that followed the cats as they moved about. 

The band began to swell once more and Steve’s stomach flipped. This was Barnes’ entrance. The white smoke began to plume from the far side of the ring as it had done the day before and Steve held his breath as the band reached its crescendo with a crash of the cymbals and the lights went down, coaxing a few distressed noises from the crowd as they momentarily lost sight of the big cats. 

Suddenly a spotlight hit the smoke and Barnes appeared, rising out of the smoke just as Khan let out another thunderous roar. Barnes was shirtless once more and his golden skin glowed under the lights. He snarled back at Khan and cracked his whip through the air.

The cats immediately turned and began to follow one another counter-clockwise around the ring as Barnes walked into the centre of it. He cracked his whip again and the cats turned and walked the other way. The crowd cheered and Barnes gave a shallow bow. 

“Hup!” He yelled and Dante peeled off from the group and approached him.

Barnes held up a hand as the male lion approached him. 

“Hup!” he yelled again and Dante clambered onto one of the metal platforms mere feet from the centre of the ring where Barnes was standing.  
Barnes threw the lion a scrap of meet from his tin which Dante plucked out of the air with a lightening-quick snap of his powerful jaws. 

Barnes called out again to the three cats still pacing the circumference of the ring and this time the two lioness peeled off and approached. They took the platforms to the left and right of where Barnes stood and he treated them the same way he had Dante. When Barnes called again, Khan took the final platform and earned his treat as well. Steve chewed his bottom lip, hyper aware that the cats now surrounded Barnes and that - as Barnes’ attention was turned to Khan - his back was to Dante, who Steve had gathered was the most volatile of the four. 

Barnes swung his whip through the air once more and brought it down with a crack and Steve watched in amazement as all four cats shifted, pulling themselves up onto their back haunches, their massive front paws raised into the air. As Dante balanced, he let out a snarl and swatted at the air with one of his massive paws. 

Barnes spun round, flicking the end of the whip at Dante and the cat settled once more. The crowd cheer as all four cats balanced on their hind quarters, paws in the air as though they were waving. Steve swallowed around the anxiety flaring in his stomach. Barnes did this every day, he reasoned with himself. Steve had already seen the act. He knew that it would be fine. 

Barnes cracked the whip again and the three lions dismounted and went to three platforms around the edge of the ring while Khan lowered himself back into a sitting position. Barnes approached him and Steve could tell by the way Barnes’ mouth moved that he was cooing at the tiger in the soft way he often did. 

Khan sat still and the crowd watched with bated breath as Barnes drew level with the tiger, well within an arms reach. Seated on the platform, Khan was every bit as tall as Barnes was standing and like the night before, Steve was struck by how small the other man really was in comparison to the beast sitting in front of him. Barnes dipped his hand into the tin and drew out a scrap of meat and the crowd gasped as he fed it straight to Khan, the big cat carefully plucking it from Barnes’ fingers.

Barnes was beaming and after Khan had swallowed his treat, Barnes sunk his hands into the rough of the big cats throat and scratched him behind his ears. Khan leant forward and butted his head into the centre of Barnes’ bare chest. 

“Holy cow.” a male voice exclaimed above Steve. “This fella is nuts.”

Barnes released Khan and stepped back. 

“Hup!” he called again and Khan moved to the perimeter of the ring to take position at his platform. 

Steve’s breath came a little easier as the Barnes distanced himself from the cats momentarily. He knew however that it would not be for long. The next time Barnes cracked his whip, the cats dismounted their platforms and ran to the next one, taking position of the cat that had sat to the left of them. This continued until they sat back on their original platform. 

The cats then approached Barnes once more and he lined them up. Barnes back was to Steve, the cats facing him. When Barnes next lifted the whip, Steve was able to watch the muscles in his shoulders shift. He knew then why Fury had been mad at Barnes for going into the ring shirtless. There was nothing ‘family’ about the way Barnes looked then, golden skin gleaming under the lights. 

Barnes held the whip high as he motioned downwards with his right hand. The cats stretched out onto their stomachs and then when he brought the whip down, the lioness at the end of the line stood and leapt over each of the cats beside her before laying down at the end of the line beside Khan. Then the other lioness repeated the action, as did Dante. 

Khan was so tall he was almost able to simply step over the other cats but when he went to move across Dante, the lion reared back, snapping at the tiger. Khan leapt backwards and swiped at Dante’s flank. Steve’s heart lurched. That wasn’t part of the show. 

Dante sprung around, snarling at Khan, teeth bared. Khan returned the sentiment until Barnes cracked the whip again, shouting as he approached them. Khan shrunk back and Dante kept snarling and the noise sent an uncomfortable shiver down Steve’s spine. Eventually Dante did the same as Khan, moving away from Barnes and settling. The crowd above Steve were murmuring but cheered when Barnes bowed after Khan reached the end of the line and lay down. Adrenaline burnt through Steve, tightening his chest and causing his pulse to race in his ears. 

The rest of the act went off without a hitch but Steve found his heart did not slow until Barnes sent the cats out of the big top and took his final bow. He left the Big Top as soon as Barnes left the ring, too shaken to enjoy the rest of the show and wary of the time. While a majority of the circus hands, stall holders and lot acts ate during the show, the performers and roustabouts that helped with the spec ate late and their dinner was not served in the Mess until after the show. Frigga had said she could manange but he had promised he would be back to help and, he had to admit to himself, he had really only gone to see Barnes’ act again anyway. 

When he returned to the kitchens, Frigga took one look at his shell-shocked face and chuckled before handing him a potato and a knife to peel it with. 

*

From the kitchen, they could hear the swell of music and roar of the crowd as the spec drew to a close as they readied the food to be served. Steve soon found that the late dinner was a true sight to behold as many of the performers came straight from the Big Top and ate in their costumes, turning the Mess into a colourful mini-echo of the show. 

Steve was serving when Barnes entered the tent, still shirtless and flanked by a number of whistles and catcalls. Steve made himself focus on the line in front of him, on making eye contact with each person who hand him their tray, but he was acutely aware that Barnes had joined his line and was drawing closer and closer with each person that Steve served. 

“Evenin’.” Barnes greeted him as he reached the front of the line and Steve nodded in return, not trusting his voice when he was faced with the smooth expanse of Barnes’ bare chest. 

He took Barnes’ tray and ladled a spoonful of the stew into his bowl and then, remembering their interaction from that morning, stole a glance at Frigga before ladling in another half a spoonful. Half the men had already eaten and there was still more than enough to go around. 

When he looked up, Barnes was grinning a little manically. 

It was obvious that Barnes was still riding an adrenaline high from the show. His movements were jerky, hurried and unfinished and the look in his eyes was almost frantic. Steve understood completely. He felt like he didn’t fit right in his skin just after watching Barnes’ act. He couldn’t imagine how it must feel for Barnes who put himself so close to harms way, twice a day with thousands of eyes watching his every move.

“Get out of my line.” he told Barnes, cheeks hot. 

Barnes just grinned harder and gave a mock two fingered salute before stepping out of the line. 

*

Steve had almost forgotten that he had spoken to Dum Dum before the show. He had definitely forgotten about agreeing to go to the hooch tent after dinner and so, when Dum Dum, Sam, Gabe and Morita piled into the kitchen after the late serving, Steve was up to his elbows in luke warm soapy water, helping Frigga clean the dishes. 

“Can I help you men?” Frigga asked. 

Dum Dum swept his bowler off his head. “Yes, mam.” he told her. “We wanted to introduce Steve here to the hooch tent tonight. Lad’s never been and it don’t seem right.”  
Steve cheeks flushed warm. He didn’t want Frigga to know that he was going to the hooch tent. He stared hard at the bowl he was running a ragged soapy cloth over and willed the other men to disappear. 

“Is that so?” Frigga asked and Steve did not miss the amusement in her voice. 

He turned and found all of them watching him. He flushed harder. “I don’t know if I can, fellas.” he said, trying to sound casually. “I need to help out with the dishes. 

Frigga huffed out a laugh. “Honestly, you forget how long I have managed on my own. Go! You have been more than a big enough help today.” 

“But, I…” Steve began but he trailed off when he saw Morita lift an eyebrow. 

Realising his defeat, Steve towelled off his hands and shucked out of the apron he was wearing. He waved a little awkwardly to Frigga and wished her goodnight before following Sam and his friends out of the Mess.

*

The hooch tent was set up towards the back of the lot, tucked away behind the Big Top and the menagerie where no rube was likely to stumble upon it unless they were looking. As they made their way over, Gabe pulled a flask from his trousers and offered it around. When it came to Steve, he made the mistake of sniffing whatever liquid was inside and the others hooted with laughter as his face crumpled in disgust. 

“That’s moonshine, lad.” Gabe told him. “You don’t sniff it!” 

Steve flushed red and took a large swig from the flask. The liquid burnt down his throat as he swallowed and he had to work hard not to start coughing. His eyes watered with the effort. Sam clapped a hand over his shoulders. 

“That’s my boy.” he teased and even Steve had to chuckle. 

The moonshine tasted like sin but between the five of them, they finished the flask before they reached the hooch tent and Steve’s chest felt warm from the three swigs he had taken. He didn’t have a lot of experience with alcohol. His father had let him have a single beer on special occasions but that was it. He’d never seen his mother drink any type of alcohol and the only time he’d seen his father drunk was after he’d found out about…

Steve shook his head to rid it of the thought just as they drew level with the dark green tent that Steve had seen for the first time earlier that same day. Steve could hear men’s laughter echoing from inside and the low hum and crackle of a record player. 

Sam let them in with a nod to Jackie who stood watch at the entrance of the tent. 

“It usually costs a pretty penny just to get in.” he explained to Steve in hushed tones as they made for an empty pew to the left of the tent’s entrance. “But we roustabouts get in for free. Jobs gotta have some perks.”

Steve nodded mutely and tried not to breathe in too deeply. The small tent was filled with more than a handful of rubes and some familiar faces that he recognised from the Mess and around the lot. More than half of the men were smoking and the air inside the tent was heavy and threatened to seize up in Steve’s lungs. He caught Sam eyeing him worriedly. He gave a subtle shake of his head but Sam did not seem particularly reassured. 

They had only just sat down when then heavy dark curtains at the back of the tent entered and the most beautiful looking woman Steve had ever seen stepped out from between them. She was tall, especially in the three inch heels she wore, and slender in a way that belied a subtle kind of strength. Her brunette hair was styled into an elegant bun and victory rolls lined her temple. Her lips were bright red and her eyes lined with heavy black coal. She was wearing a long black coat and two large flowers in her hair along with her red heels. Steve swallowed hard as the men around him began to cat call and hoot. He bristled at their boldness even as the woman began to smile. 

Someone changed the needled on the record player and the song changed abruptly to something slower and more soulful. The woman began to swing her hips in time to the music and Steve felt his cheeks heat. He’d never seen anyone move like that. The men around him whistled appreciatively. She flicked her eyes at them and ran her tongue over her lips, playing with the lapels of her coat, easing them apart. 

Steve felt like his face was on fire but he could not pull his eyes away from the slow heavy swing of her round hips. She turned then and his eyes slid down the backs of her legs, following the seam on the back of her nylons. His gaze snapped back up when the coat hit the ground around her feet. She had nothing on underneath except for a brassier, garter belt and the skimpiest pair of bloomers Steve had ever seen. They were so small they pulled tight across her bottom with each roll and swing of her hips. Sam nudged him and Steve was grateful for the excuse to turn away.

“Carter’s a real looker, doncha think?” Sam asked. 

Steve nodded. “Does she…I mean, is she going to take-?” 

His question was answered when the woman - Carter? - slid low and plucked one stocking loose, folding almost in half as she rolled it down her thigh and calf before sliding it off, taking her heel off with it. The motion meant her bottom was pushed out into the air and the men in the tent hollered and made rude gestures with their hands. Steve wanted to clobber them all but she just smiled at them and bent over to slip the other stocking off, her behind aimed at the other half of the room. 

She turned back to face the men then and gave a shimmy of her shoulders. Her ample breasts bounced in the confines of her brassier and the men feel about on themselves. 

“Oh mumma!” called a lout from the opposite side of the tent. “Come to daddy!”

Steve had to repress a shudder. The woman didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she fetched a chair from behind the curtain and drew it to the centre of her small stage. 

“Oh hell.” Sam laughed. “We’re in for it now!” 

Steve looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

“You’ll see.” Sam replied cryptically. 

Steve frowned harder. When he turned back to the stage, Carter was looking over the men lining the seats, one index finger pressed to her lips as though she was thinking quite deeply. The men all motioned to themselves, calling out to her. She was choosing, Steve realised, picking someone to come and sit in the chair. 

“Carter!” Dum Dum called from beside Sam. “Over here, doll! We got some fresh meat!” 

Steve barely had time to register that Dum Dum was talking about him before Carter’s eyes were on him and Sam and Morita were pushing him to his feet. The way Carter’s painted lips broke into a smile made Steve’s pulse skip and his hands itch for a pencil. She really was stunningly beautiful. 

She held a hand out to him and his knees went a little weak. Sam pushed him forward though and he caught her hand and let her draw him out of the crowd and into the centre of the tent with her. The men around them groaned in disappointment that they had not been picked. 

She lead Steve to the chair and motioned for him to sit, which he did gratefully, knees still a little steady. 

“Go easy on him, doll!” a voice called from the crowd. “Looks like you could snap him in half!”

Steve’s cheeks pinked and he dipped his chin, embarrassed. He knew how he must look - small and scrawny like a child. She had either not heard the man or chose to ignore him. Instead she stooped low and pressed a kiss to Steve’s warm cheek.  
“What’s you name, bub?” she breathed, so close Steve could smell her perfume. 

“Steve.” he choked out. 

“Okay Steve, here’s the deal. You sit on you hands and I show you a good time. You touch me and I get Jackie to throw you out on you ear. Understand?” She had an accent.

Steve swallowed and nodded. 

She pulled back and grinned at him. “Good.” she said and then her hips began to move once more.

Steve flushed and moved his hands from the top of his thighs to underneath them. She rewarded him by swaying closer. She moved in a circle about him, the skin of her outer thigh brushing against the sleeves of his shirt. Goosebumps broke out on Steve’s arms despite the heat of the tent. 

When she came to stand in front of him once more, turned her back to him and gave their audience another shimmy of her shoulders before dropping back into Steve’s lap gracefully. He jerked hard and almost pulled his hands from beneath his thighs to catch her but held back at the last minute. 

She rolled her hips against his lap and Steve’s breath left him in a whoosh. Carter leaned back and pressed another kiss to his cheek. 

“Unhook my bra.” she told him and he choked on the breath he was trying to get back. 

“What?!” he gasped. 

“My brassier.” she explained. “Unhook it.” 

She leant forward, all the while continuing to bounce and roll on his thighs. He drew his hands out from beneath his legs and brought them to the clasp of her brassier, fumbling it for a moment before it came loose. She folded her arms across her front and winked at him surreptitiously over her shoulder before turning back to the masses and pretending to be shocked. Steve jammed his hand back under his legs.

Despite her act, she let her arms back down and let the brassier fall away. Steve took another fast, unsteady breath. God, if he had another asthma attack - here or all places - he would actually die of embarrassment if the lack of oxygen didn’t do him in first. 

He couldn’t see much from his position behind her but from the way the men seemed to lose their collective minds, her breasts were just as spectacular as the rest of her figure. She turned then and Steve could not help the way his eyebrows climbed in shock. Her breast were lovely and her smile was wicked. She was very close. 

And moving closer. She straddled his hips and pressed her breast right up against him. She was very warm and when her hips rolled again, Steve realised, horrified, that he was hard beneath his slacks. The shame of it helped to soften his prick a little but then she moved again and he was stiff as a board once more. 

“Sorry!” he told her, voice hushed, mortified. “Oh God. I’m so sorry!” 

She beamed at him. “It’s not a problem, soldier. Just means I’m doing my job.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that. 

“Big finish.” she warned him, tilted his head back and lay her perfect red lips over his own. 

Steve made a soft noise of shock, hands flailing beside him as she suckled at his bottom lip. It was his first kiss and she was half naked and he had an erection and there was a tent full of men looking at them. This was not how he had wanted his first kiss to go. This was not what it was supposed to be. He jammed his eyes closed and wished that it would stop, that he would wake up and realise it was just some very strange dream he was having. It wasn’t. He was pinned just like Robert had pinned him and something else was being taken from him, just like Robert had done. He was equal parts turned on and disgusted. His stomach rolled at the sensation.

Carter must have felt him tense because she pulled back and when Steve opened his eyes, he was mortified that his lashes were a little damp. He hoped she didn’t realise - that the other men didn’t realise - but the way her eyes went soft and pitying told him that she did. She pushed up and off of him and just before she turned back to the audience, Steve saw her flirtatious mask slip back on. 

She made a low curtesy as the men whooped and hollered. Steve took some solace in the fact that none of them seem to be watching him. He sniffed as delicately as he could and had only just thought about trying to muster his limbs to move when Carter turned to him and hauled him up by the front of his shirt. Steve could tell by the way the men cheered that she was playing it up again, like she wasn’t done with him but that what came next wasn’t for them to watch. At least Steve hoped she was playing. 

She dragged him up and towards the curtains at the back of the stage. Panicked, he looked around blindly at the men lining the tent, trying to find Sam’s face in the crowd.

Instead, he found Barnes'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am blown away by the response this fic has received and I am eternally grateful to those of you still reading. 
> 
> I'd love it if you came and hung out with me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fat-hippie) sometime too! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gave an exaggerate shrug. "Guess you and Barnes don't have a traditional relationship." There was a suggestive lilt to his tone that Steve didn't like. 
> 
> Steve finally found a shirt and shrugged on, angry. "I don't think I like what you're implying." He told Sam tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, I am posting this chapter from the departures lounge of the airport having finished typing it up this morning while waiting for my flight so I apologise in advance for lack of proof reading and any typos.

Carter dragged him behind the curtain and pushed him into another chair which he collapsed into gratefully, just barely aware of another girl slipping out past them to entertain the still cheering crowd. The air behind the curtain was even heavier than it had been in the main area of the tent, the men’s cigarette smoke mingling with a number of different perfumes and a scent that reminded Steve of the hair salon his mother used to visit. He tried not to breath too deeply but the short, hurried breaths that forced him to take did little to curb his distress. 

Carter was watching him, hips propped back against a low table that was cultured with make-up, hair brushes and a large mirror. She hadn’t bothered to scoop up her clothes and the only thing covering her modesty were her tiny panties and the way she had folded her arms over her chest. Steve could still see the dusky pink skin of her left nipple between her arms. He dropped his gaze to his feet and concentrated on his breathing. 

Carter said nothing for a long moment. Steve wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. 

“Well?” Carter prompted him finally. 

Steve glanced back up at her, his forehead wrinkled with confusion. 

“Well…?” he asked. 

“Are you going to explain what just happened?” she asked him and finally, finally reached for a dress that hung over the back of a chair by her dressing table. 

Steve blinked. His breath was coming a little easier now but his head was still spinning though from the moonshine or the heady mix of cigarette smoke and perfume, he didn’t know. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

She slipped the dress over her head and fastened the tie around her waist. It was still difficult for Steve to look at her, knowing she wore no brassier beneath the garment but at least her nipples were no longer showing. She arched an eyebrow at him but did not elaborate and Steve flushed under her silent scrutiny. 

He looked away.

“That was my first kiss.” he admitted and winced when he glanced back at her and saw that her face had softened. 

He didn’t want to be pitied. Or coddled. He never should have said anything. He should’ve catcalled and hooted like the rest of the men, he thought fiercely. He should’ve pressed his tongue into her mouth and kissed her back. But his bravado flicked out as quickly as it had sparked to life and he mourned it with a sigh. 

“Please don’t look at me like that.” he said anyway but she seemed unable to stop. 

“Oh, bub. That isn’t any way to have your first kiss.” she told him. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I know that!” he told her, peeved. And then, immediately: “Sorry.”

She shrugged and turned to pluck a cigarette from a fancy holder on her dressing table, lighting it with an even fancier lighter once it was between her lips. She took a drag and met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror as she exhaled. 

“So what’s a kid like you doing in a hooch tent?” she asked and Steve bristled again. 

He didn’t like being called ‘kid’. 

“I ain’t a kid.” 

She laughed, though it was not unkind. “Please.” she implored. “You’re no more than - what? 15? 16, at the most.” 

Steve was so shocked by her accuracy that his mouth dropped open. “I - no!” he tried but gave up when she turned to face him, pinning him with another calculating look whilst she took another drag of her cigarette. “How did you know?” he groused. 

“A woman always does.” she told him cryptically. 

Just then, Steve caught the canvas behind part and a figure slip into the warmly lit gloom of the dressing tent. 

“Steve?” 

Steve sat up a little straighter. He knew that voice. 

Barnes rounded Carter’s dressing table and moved further into the light. His face was pinched and he barely spared Carter a glance as he approached Steve. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

Steve’s cheeks warmed, half-flattered, half-mortified. Barnes was worried about him. Barnes thought he had to worry about him. He managed to nod. 

“He’s fine.” Carter said and Barnes threw a dark look over his shoulder at her. Steve wanted to tell him off for being rude to a dame but he also wanted to run his thumb over the worried crease between Barnes’ eyebrows. He blinked. Obviously the moonshine hadn’t warn off. 

“He is.” Carter insisted. “Just a little overwhelmed.” 

Steve frowned at that, annoyed despite how correct her conclusion was. 

“I didn't realise you were his keeper anyway, Barnes.” Carter continued, taking another drag on her cigarette. 

“He’s not.” Steve insisted hotly just as Barnes said: “Well, someone has to be.” 

Steve turned his frown on Barnes who stared back at him blandly as though he was willing Steve to correct the man who had saved his life just the day before. 

“Urgh.” Carter groaned and the rough noise sounded particularly out of place coming from her perfectly made up lips. “Men.” 

She stubbed out her cigarette in a silver ash tray by her mirror and waved her hand at them. “Get out of my dressing room.” she told them. “I have to be back on in five and I need to change.” 

Steve followed Barnes out of the tent as quickly as his legs would carry him. 

*

The cool night air was blissful after the stuffiness of the tent and Steve took a long, slow breath before he mustered the courage to turn to Barnes. Even in the near dark, he could see the quizzical expression on Barnes’ face but he found he was in no mood to explain himself again. 

“You ain’t my keeper.” he said instead. 

Barnes laughed sharply. “Okay.” he said but his tone suggested he didn’t agree in the slightest. 

Steve narrowed his eyes and then turned to leave. He was a little charmed that Barnes had come to find him, that the other man had been worried enough about him that he had taken steps - which even Sam apparently hadn’t - to find Steve and make sure he was alright. However outweighing the warmth that idea brought to Steve’s gut, was the hot burn of the abject humiliation that Steve was still working through. 

“You gonna explain what happened in there?” Barnes asked. 

“Nothing happened in there.” Steve snapped back. 

Barnes held up his hands in a mock surrender and Steve flushed. 

“It was nothing.” he said again, softer. 

Barnes shrugged. “Didn’t seem like nothin’.” he observed and Steve sort of wanted to take a swing at him just to shut him up. 

He gave a long suffering sigh instead. “Why did you rush after me anyhow?” he asked, trying to deflect, and felt a brief rush of satisfaction when Barnes stalled for a long moment before answering. 

“‘Cause I ain’t ever seen a fella look so terrified to be pressed up against a beautiful dame.” Barnes said finally and Steve’s satisfaction turned cold and settled heavily into the pit of his stomach. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t going to have another attack.”

It seemed so logical when he put it like that but Barnes’ explanation did nothing to soothe the irrational part of Steve’s brain that puffed up like an angry cat every time someone implied he was somehow deficient because of his ill health. 

“Yeah, well, I’m fine.” he said hotly. 

“Fine and as angry as a cut snake.” Barnes observed. “You a virgin or somethin’?” 

Steve was grateful that the darkness surrounding them probably meant that Barnes was not able to see how red his face went. He wanted to protest but when he opened his mouth, the words refused to come out and he shut it again, looking away. His silence answered for him. 

Barnes let out another sharp laugh and Steve was reminded of the first day they met, when the only smile of Barnes’ he had known was the sharp, unfriendly tilt of his mouth. 

“Jeez punk.” Barnes said. “That’s rough. I’m amazed you didn’t poke a hole through your slacks.” 

Steve made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and turned away, keen to leave behind the whole mess and find his bed. He had only managed a few, angry strides when Barnes stopped him, his strong hand curling around Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve whipped around, seething that his personal space had been invaded without his consent for the second time that night. 

“What?” he spat. 

Barnes held up his hands again though the jerkiness of the motion made Steve think that - this time - the action was a product of surprise rather than sarcasm. 

“Hey.” Barnes said and his tone reminded Steve of how the other man spoke to Khan. 

It did placate Steve some that Barnes apparently took his anger as seriously as he took the cats’.

“I’m sorry.” Barnes told him. “That was out of line.” 

“You’re damn right it was.” Steve huffed, folding his arms across his chest. 

Barnes rubbed at the back of his neck, sheepish. “I came after you to make sure you were okay.” he explained. “But your lippy mouth sets me on edge, kid. You get your hackles up and it gets me on the back foot straight away - I don’t know why.” 

Steve narrowed his eyes. “So it’s my fault you’re a jerk?” he summarised. 

“No!” Barnes said hurriedly. “But damn, punk. You sure know how to get under a fella’s skin, ya know that?” 

Steve huffed, confused. If he was perfectly honest, he didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing when it came to Barnes but there was no way he could explain that to the other man.

“I’m fine.” he said eventually. “It was just a bit - overwhelming.” 

What little light there was left caught in Barnes’ smile when he grinned. “I hear that.” he said and Steve ducked his head, determined not to smile. “You sure you’re alright though?” 

Steve nodded, wishing Barnes would drop the subject. He could not think of any way to explain why his reaction had been so overt without giving away everything and risk losing the …thing that was developing between Barnes and himself. After Robert had spread his own version of what had transpired between them around school, the few friends Steve’d had deserted him. No-one wanted to be associated with the shirt-lifter. He doubted Barnes would either. 

Barnes was watching him carefully when Steve reemerged from his thoughts. 

“Sorry,” Steve said hurriedly. “I’m just tired. Need to lay down before I fall down and all that.” 

It was an exaggeration. Though his day in the kitchens had been busy - it had been kinder on his body than the hard labour of the days before and while he was weary, he was not exhausted. However, Barnes nodded like he understood. 

“You’ve got another early start tomorrow as well.” he conceded. “Gotta be there to dish out my porridge after all.”

Steve rolled his eyes. 

“You ain’t getting more than a scoop.” he told Barnes, trying and failing to hide his grin when the other man slumped dramatically. “I never should have encouraged you.”

Barnes chuckled as he straightened. “Yup. You’re stuck with me now.” he told Steve.

Steve tucked his chin to his throat to hide the size of his grin. That, he decided, did not sound so bad. 

*

Barnes walked Steve back to his and Sam’s carriage, sending him to be with a ‘night, punk!’ and a cheeky, half-assed salute. Steve stood by the carriage door and watched Barnes walk away until the other man’s silhouette was swallowed by the encroaching dark, before climbing into the carriage and lighting the oil lamp between the cots. 

Steve was tucked in and dozing by the time Sam returned and rather than face another uncomfortable conversation about what had happened in the hooch tent, Steve feigned sleep until Sam settled down in his own cot and dimmed the lamp. 

*

The next few weeks passed in a similar fashion. Steve woke early and helped Frigga prepare and serve breakfast and lunch before ducking out to watch the matinee show in the afternoons. He preferred it to the evening show because the crowds weren’t as large and he could stay through to the end of the spec. Barnes, after the second day, had unfortunately gone back to wearing his red shirt during his performance but that did not mean Steve was anymore successful at tearing his eyes away from the other man when he was in the ring. 

Most nights, after the performers’ dinner in the evenings, Steve found himself following Sam and other men to the hooch tent. Carter left him alone for the most part but threw him a wink every now and then. When she did, Sam and the men around him elbowed him playfully. The attention made Steve blush but he was also thankful for the reputation it was earning him around the lot. Carter, it turned out, was highly sought after but hardly gave any of the men the time of day. Steve had barely spoken to her since his first night in the hooch tent but she always had a smile ready for him when she caught his eye during her routine and because of that, many of the men had assumed Steve was some kind of lady killer. Steve recognised a favour when he saw one and so it was very easy to smile back at Carter, even as the men hooted and hollered around him.

There were another two new big reasons why the hooch tent was so popular among the men, rubes and roustabouts alike, and they both belonged to a new dancer, Darcy Lewis. Darcy had come to the show with her main squeeze only to find him trying to skip out during the interval with another dame. Given that Darcy had followed the cad to New York to be a dancer in his variety show (and, she’d hoped, his wife) she saw no point in staying once she had broken things off with him - loudly and publicly - in front of the entire spec. 

She had auditioned for Fury that same night and Steve served her in the line the next day at breakfast. She did not, he noticed, get relegated to stink duty but she was so lovely to him and so feisty with Sam, Barnes and the other men that he could not begrudge her for it. Her rapier wit even gave Tony a run for his money - a trait which further endeared her to Steve. 

Steve hadn’t had much to do with Tony since they met the first day on the lot when Tony had given Steve lip about wanting to join up but Tony was generally either found tinkering with or repairing things around the lot or trailing after Virginia ‘Oh, call me ‘Pepper’ Potts, the other main draw of the hooch tent. Steve could not work out if Tony and Pepper were actually an item or if Tony was just hoping that they would be. Regardless, given the amount of time Steve now spent at the hooch tent and Tony’s relationship (whatever it may be) with Pepper, they saw a lot more of each other - a notion which Steve found particularly disappointing. 

Sam insisted that Tony was a not bad sort of guy - more of an acquired taste than anything else - but he still rubbed Steve the wrong way. Pepper, in contrast, was lovely and very helpful. She filled Steve in on how the hooch tent operated when he expressed his concern for her and the girls’ safety. The way the men hooted and catcalled as the girls danced didn’t sit right with Steve at all. 

“And what’s to stop them grabbing at you when you don’t want them to?” he asked Pepper and Darcy one morning as they sat, smoking by the kitchens. 

Pepper’s laugh was just a pretty and elegant as the rest of her. “Oh Steve,” she said. “There’s always plenty of our own boys about to keep an eye on the rubes.” 

Darcy nodded. “Even when we do private dances, there's someone looking out for us. Scared the hell out of me the first time one of the joes got a bit handsy and Sam burst through the side of the tent." 

Steve frowned and scrubbed harder at a piece of dried porridge that clung stubbornly to the bowl he was washing. "Don't seem right." He muttered. "That they treat you ladys as such." 

Darcy's eyebrows shot up and Pepper laughed her tinkling laugh again. "Steven Rogers, they broke the mould when they made you." 

"I can see why you caught Carter's interest." Darcy confirmed. 

Steve flushed and turned back to his dishes. 

 

Steve, it seemed, had also caught Barnes' interest. 

Much to Steve's surprise and delight and Sam's bemusement, other man sought Steve out often between Steve's kitchen duties and his own regarding the spec and the big cats. Barnes would sit with Steve as he prepared meals or would help him fetch water, all the while chatting easily about the cats or the show, telling Steve anecdotes from his past or speaking at length about his dealings with training the cats. Steve felt guilty for not being able to reciprocate so freely, as he kept a careful restraint on how he spoke about his past and his upbringing. The guilt he felt and the anxiety that sometimes twisted in his gut when he thought Barnes may have caught his gaze lingering meant that they still often sniped at one another. More often than not, it was Steve's own sharp tongue that provoked Barnes but nearly just often Barnes' said something thoughtless that made Steve's hackles rise. 

Sam said they argued like an old married couple. Steve said he was a damned fool that should mind his own business. 

 

Three weeks into the shows stay in New York, there was a scheduled rest day.

"No shows! No rubes! Freedom!" Sam groaned happily into the mattress of his cot. 

He had been out with the men the night before, stumbled in three sheets to the wind just as the sun began to peak out over the lot and woken Steve up with his loud, jovial singing. As a result he had slept until after noon and had only woken up once Steve had come back from lunch to change his soiled shirt. 

"And you've wasted half of it in bed." Steve commented, frowning as he tried to work the fresh stain out of his shirt. 

Sam laughed happily and then groaned good-naturedly and clutch at his head. "Wasted? Psh. I have been recovering. That Lewis girl wiped the dance floor clean with me last night. I am recuperating. Whoo." 

Steve chuckled as he poured some more water over his shirt to rinse out the soup before stringing it up on the clothesline he'd fashioned for them. It hung across the length of the carriage and was much more effective than trying to layout their wet things across their beds or the one small chair in the corner.

"Made some time with Darcy, didja?"

Sam beamed at him. "She is some girl, Steve. Some girl." 

Steve grinned at his friend's besotted tone. He thought then of how Darcy's eyebrows had leapt in surprise when he'd called her a lady. 

"You should take her out next time you get a chance. Wine and dine her. Treat her like a lady." He told Sam. "She'd like that." 

Sam nodded, still grinning. "Treat that woman like a damn princess if it'd mean she'd be my queen." 

Steve felt his own eyebrows leap in surprise and he wondered if Sam was still a little tippled. Sam eased himself into a sitting position, groaning. 

"How come you didn't come out, anyway?" He asked. 

Steve shrugged. "Bars and dance halls don't really agree with me." He admitted. "Smoke ain't good for my lungs and getting turned down by dames ain't good for my ego." He chose not to mention that he often got turned away at the door because he looked even younger than his age. 

Sam made an understanding noise. "Shame though. Carter had to lower herself to dance with Barnes, still they make quite the pair. Showed all of us up when the band got goin'".

Steve gnawed at his bottom lip, trying to ignore the tightness that flared in his gut at Sam's words. He wasn't jealous. That would be ridiculous. 

"Barnes asked after you." Sam said then and when Steve looked up sharply, the other man was watching him with kind eyes.   
Steve felt heat rise on his neck, felt cold panic morph and merge with the tightness already present in his gut. "Oh?" He mumbled, turning back to his shirt. 

"Got a soft spot for you, he does." Sam continued and Steve rummaged through his things in an effort to find a new shirt and do his best to ignore the other man. "I ain't ever seen him buddy up to anyone like he has done with you." 

"I thought you said roustabouts and performers couldn't be friends." Steve countered. 

Sam gave an exaggerate shrug. "Guess you and Barnes don't have a traditional relationship." There was a suggestive lilt to his tone that Steve didn't like. 

Steve finally found a shirt and shrugged on, angry. "I don't think I like what you're implying." He told Sam tightly. 

The suggestive tilt of Sam's mouth dropped away and his face softened. "Steve - " he began but was cut off by a louder: "Hey, punk!" 

Steve turned to find Barnes bounding up it the open carriage door. The other man looked good, decked out in light brown trousers and an off-white shirt. His dark hair was wet and curling around his ears as though he had just bathed. Steve could imagine how Barnes skin would smell, clean and warm and fresh. He shook his head to dismiss the thought and shot a glare look at Sam as the other man began to snigger. 

"Hey, jerk." Steve replied as Barnes stopped by the door. He was suddenly, achingly aware how the exchange between them sounded almost like an endearment and his skin flushed warmer. 

Barnes was all smiles, oblivious to the tension he had stumbled into. 

"You got a moment?" He asked Steve after nodding to Sam. "Got something I wanna show you." 

Steve chewed on his lip. He didn't have anywhere to be until that afternoon when he needed to return to the Mess to help Frigga with dinner. 

"Yeah, I got a moment." He replied, steadfastly refusing to look at Sam.

The other man's knowing grin was so large, Steve could see it out the corner of his eye. 

Luckily Barnes only seemed to have eyes for him and did not acknowledge Sam's behaviour. He tapped out a fast rhythm on the floor of the carriage, grin turning slightly manic when Steve agreed. 

Steve ignored the hand Barnes offered to help him down from carriage and jumped down himself. He also ignored Sam's overly-jovial "Have fun fellas!" as he started off across the lot. 

Barnes was still grinning when he fell into step beside Steve. It was beginning to grate on Steve's nerves a little. 

"What's so important you gotta pull me away from my laundry?" He asked bluntly. 

His sour mood did little to perturb Barnes. The other man turned and Steve was faced with the full wattage of his electric smile. 

"I'm taking you in with the cats."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to the States for two weeks so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be. Hopefully I have time to write whilst flying. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments more than welcome!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blood was Delilah’s. Her fur was matted with it from shoulder to waist and as she tried to lift her head, Steve caught a glimpse at the open wound of her throat. His stomach rolled and his breath, already heavy from crossing the lot, caught in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am so, so sorry about the wait for this chapter! Holidays and then the transition back into real life and work got in the way. Please forgive me?

Steve stopped so suddenly that it took Barnes another two steps before he realised Steve was no longer beside him and turned back.

“You’re what?” Steve asked, sure that he must have heard wrong. 

Barnes smirked. He always enjoyed being able to shock Steve. Over the weeks, Steve’s tolerance had gone up but that didn’t mean that Barnes wasn’t occasionally able to slip something past his guard. This one took the cake, though. 

“I’m taking you in with the cats.” Barnes repeated. 

“You’re joking.” Steve retorted. 

Barnes shook his head. “Nope.”

Steve scoffed. “No, you are.” he replied. “Because I ain’t going in.” 

Barnes raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t realise you were such a yellow belly.” he challenged and Steve huffed, trying not to bristle at the challenge in Barnes’ tone. 

“I ain’t.” he argued. “I just ain’t crazy like you.” 

Barnes laughed, a wild sound that Steve felt only gave more credence to his own line of argument. 

“C’mon Rogers.” Barnes said then and Steve could tell immediately that the other man had switched tactics.   “Don’t even try.” he warned as Barnes looked at him imploring me. “You got the saddest puppy-dog eyes in the city - and I don’t mean that in a good way!” 

Barnes stuck out his bottom lip in response. Steve could not help but laugh. 

“You can’t guilt me into this one.” he told the other man. “This isn’t extra porridge at breakfast. This is a potential life or death situation.” 

“There ain’t enough meat on you to entice them to bite ya.” Barnes jibbed and Steve rolled his eyes. 

Steve folded his arms across his chest, his chin lifting stubbornly. A small thrill raced down his spine when Barnes heaved out an exasperated sigh.

“Come on, Steve.” Barnes implored. “It’ll only be Khan. He’ll be fine.” 

Steve frowned. “I don’t understand. You tell me over and over that the cats are dangerous and not to underestimate them but now you-“ 

“Barnes!” 

They both swung round at the sound of Barnes’ name being shouted across the lot. 

It was Logan. He looked half-wild, windswept from racing across the lot and eyes wide with panic.

“Where the fuck have you been?!” the tall man shouted but did not leave time for Barnes to reply. “You gotta come now. Dante’s attacked Delilah.” 

Steve’s stomach swopped low. Delilah was the younger and smaller of the two lionesses.

Barnes swore beside him. “Is it bad?” he asked. 

Logan nodded, chest heaving. “We had to tranq him.” he said. “He wouldn’t let her go.”

Barnes swore again and took off past Logan, towards the menagerie. Logan followed without so much a glance at Steve. 

Steve hurried after them as fast as his shorter legs and asthma would allow. 

*

From Logan’s reaction, Steve knew that whatever Barnes was about to find in the menagerie was going to be bad but as he pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered in the entrance of the tent, he began to realise he had underestimated just how bad it could be. 

The coppery scent of blood hung close in the still air of the tent and as Steve ducked between two roustabouts that he didn’t recognise, he caught his first glimpse of the gruesome scene. Khan and the remaining lioness, Sekhmet, were crowded in the far corner of the cats road cage. The lioness, who Steve realised with a jolt, was both Dante’s and Delilah’s mother was making small distressed noises as she looked over both her adult cubs, sprawled across the carriage floor. 

The blood was Delilah’s. Her fur was matted with it from shoulder to waist and as she tried to lift her head, Steve caught a glimpse at the open wound of her throat. His stomach rolled and his breath, already heavy from crossing the lot, caught in his chest. 

Barnes was being physically held back by Logan and Gabe. Fury stood between them and the carriage. 

“Let me go!” Barnes shouted. “You bastards, let me go!” He pushed at Logan, only to be caught and held back by Gabe’s strong arms

“Barnes!” Fury barked, trying to demand the other man’s attention but Barnes would not be distracted from his struggle. 

He got free of Gabe’s hold and Steve realised suddenly that he was trying to get into the carriage with the cats. His heart ached for his friend. 

Logan reached out and caught Barnes once more by the back of his shirt. Steve watched in awe as Barnes spun, as graceful as any dancer, and socked the bigger man straight across the jaw. Logan stumbled and Barnes, though unsteady from being released so suddenly, hit the ground running. 

Fury did not try to stop him and in a few moments, Barnes was heaving himself onto the end of the carriage, his fingers fumbling with the lock and latch on the cage. Steve’s legs started moving without conscious thought and by the time Barnes had let himself into the carriage, Steve stood beside Fury, watching with open-mouthed awe as Barnes threw himself to his knees beside Delilah’s prone form without a second glance at the two other cats, still huddled in the corner of the cage. 

Steve watched as the blood soaked into the knees of Barnes’ trousers, wincing when his friend’s hand slid from beneath him as he crawled closer to the injured lion. Despite the distance between them, Steve could see the shine of tears on Barnes’ face as he reached Delilah’s head and took in the extent of the damage. 

The rough, wet noise that Barnes made at the sight was echoed by the terrified lioness in front of him and Steve’s heart broke as he watched Barnes extend a hand out to smooth over her matted fur. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Barnes told her, voice rough and strained. “Hey, lady. Hey, doll.” 

Steve watched as Khan lowered himself onto his belly with a low whine. Sekhmet gave another keening cry, but remained at Khan’s side. 

Barnes lifted Delilah’s head gently into his lap, all the while petting her giant ears and repeating his soft greeting to her over and over until his voice choked off completely. 

Steve was not sure how long he watched his friend as each painful moment that slipped by seemed to last hours but eventually, the heavy rise and fall of Delilah’s shoulders shallowed and then stopped all together. 

“Delilah?” Barnes asked softly, peering down at her face and then a moment later, sobbed and curled around her large head. 

Steve tried to blink away the wetness clouding his own vision but was only partially successful.

Beside him, Fury turned and approached the tent’s entrance. 

“Show’s over.” Steve heard him say. “Get back to work.” 

A hand clasped Steve’s shoulder and he looked up to find Gabe standing beside him, face solemn. 

“Go get your lad.” the taller man told him and Steve found he did not have the will to fight the sentiment. “We gotta get him and Dante out before he wakes up.” 

For the first time, Steve’s attention caught on the other cat’s prone form. It seemed unfair that his chest still rose and fell with deep, lumbering breaths when he had stopped his sister’s from doing so. Steve slipped out of Gabe’s hold and approached the carriage where Barnes was now rocking over Delilah’s prone from, bent almost in half as he pressed his forehead to her still shoulder. 

Steve swallowed, not wanting to intrude on Barnes’ grief and hating the necessity of doing so. 

“Hey Barnes?” he said softly. “Gabe says you gotta get out before Dante wakes up.”

Barnes only clutched Delilah’s body harder, fingers sinking deep into her ruined fur. Steve drew up to the bars of the cage and tried again. 

“Barnes?” 

Given the situation, Steve felt wrong addressing Barnes by his last name. It seemed too formal, too unfeeling. But Steve had never once called the other man by his given name and it felt equally strange shaping his mouth around it. 

“James?” he said quietly as he drew level with the bars of the cage. 

Barnes’ only response was to turn his face away from Steve. Steve bit his lip. He watched Khan and Sekhmet closely and when he was sure they were not about to move, he extended his arm out between the bars of the cage and tentatively rested his hand over Barnes ankle. Barnes’ trouser hem had ridden up and his sock had fallen so Steve’s hand rested against strip of skin that was exposed. 

“Please, James. They have to get her out before he wakes up.” he tried again and this time, Barnes sniffed and drew his legs under himself.

Steve watched as the other man pressed a kiss to the fur behind Delilah’s ear and then rose unsteadily to his feet. Khan rumbled out a growl which made Steve retract his arm quickly. Barnes looked over at the tiger as though he was seeing him for the first time, body going rigid as if he had only just realised how much danger he was in. Khan murmured again but then eased his head onto the ground between his massive paws. It was only his tail, which flicked back and forth between the bars behind him, that gave away his anxiety.

Sekhmet did not move from Khan’s side but she did turn her face away from Barnes, as though she was trying to look around him to where her cubs lay. 

Barnes eased past them, putting as much room between himself and the two agitated cats as possible before slipping out of the cage and securing the door with shaking hands. He stumbled as he lowered himself down from the carriage and Steve was quick to step in and catch the bigger man, helping him to right himself again. 

Barnes didn't meet his eye but he didn’t step away from Steve even once he was back on his feet either. Instead, he leant into Steve, sagged down to rest gently against Steve’s shoulder where it caught him under the arm. Steve swallowed hard and tried hard to ignore the stickiness of the blood under his hand where it rested against Barnes’ shirt. Pain was etched across every handsome line of the taller man’s face and Steve watched, close up, as Barnes squeezed his eyes shut, forcing more tears to leak out onto his cheeks. 

“Barnes.” Fury said and when Barnes opened his eyes, they were already glassy with fresh tears. 

Steve wanted throw his arms around the other man’s neck and not let go until he was out of tears but instead, settled for slinging his arm around Barnes’ waist as though he was working harder to keep Banres upright than he actually was. 

“Get out of here.” Fury told them. “We’ll get Dante into a solitary cage and the others into a spare road coach. I’ll have the men clear out the incinerator and while cremate her. That way we don’t have to leave her here once we move on.” 

Barnes took a deep, unsteady breath and nodded, but kept his eyes downcast. Fury met Steve’s eye. 

“Take him to his trailer and get him a stiff drink.” the Ringmaster ordered and Steve nodded despite not knowing where Barnes’ trailer actually was. 

Apparently satisfied, Fury turned and left. Steve watched the other man leave before turning back to Barnes, only to find his friend watching as Sekhmet sniffed cautiously at her daughter’s body. It was a heartbreaking sight. Even more so when the older lioness bunted her head against Delilah’s as though trying to rouse her from a doze. 

Steve felt tears prick in the corners of his own eyes and he nudged Barnes, trying to steal his attention away. It worked and Barnes’ eyes left the cage to stare down at their feet once more. 

“C’mon.” Steve said, voice rough with barely contained emotion. 

He nudged Barnes again and, just as Fury returned with five other men, Steve coaxed his friend out of the tent.

*

Barnes didn’t speak as they made their way across the lot and though he continued to lean against Steve’s shoulder, he directed Steve with small nods of his head and lead them to his trailer. Steve did not speak either for lack of knowledge of what to say. He assumed that, for Barnes, losing Delilah was like losing a pet. The only pet Steve had ever had, a mangy scruff of a dog that Steve had named Charlie, had died when Steve was 10 - a short three years after it had followed Steve and his mother home from the grocery. 

Steve had been so distraught that he’d cried himself into an asthma attack - twice. After that, his father had banned pets in their household. When Steve thought about Charlie, his chest still ached with emotion so he could only imagine what Barnes was going through having lost Delilah, whom he had worked with and trained for years, so suddenly. On top that, Steve just knew that he would somehow say the wrong thing and make the situation worse so he kept quiet. 

Barnes’ rooms were further along the length of the train than Steve had ever had purpose to go and consisted of two consecutive carriages. The carriages were painted a deep royal blue, made of sturdy well-crafted wood and left Steve and Sam’s drafty one room carriage for dead.

Barnes let them into the second carriage and Steve tried not to boggle too much as he hoisted himself up through the doorway after his friend. The carriage contained a double cot which was piled with pillows and a mattress that looked at least twice width of Steve’s. Two comfortable armchairs sat beside a small table and record player took up the corner opposite the water closet. 

Barnes crossed the carriage and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, toeing off his boots. Steve bit his lip, aware that the blood on Barnes’ trousers was more than likely staining his sheets. Barnes either did not notice or did not care.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked softly. 

Barnes blinked away his thousand-yard stare and met Steve’s eye for the first time since he had emerged from the cat’s cage. His eyes held the emotion he was obviously working hard to suppress and it was a struggle for Steve, who felt he should leave and let Barnes grieve privately, to keep Barnes’ gaze. Then, Barnes gave a jerky twist to his head, a single shake. He wanted Steve to stay. 

“Figure that -“ Barnes’ voice was rough and he stopped to clear his throat noisily into the side of his fist. “Figure that if I start drinking alone - I probably won’t stop. At least with you here, there’ll be someone to pry the bottle from my fingers later.” 

The grin Barnes forced onto his face was a broken wreck of a thing and when Steve could not find the strength to return it, it immediately fell from Barnes’ lips. 

“Hooch is under the player, next to the records. Throw something on, will ya?” Barnes said, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his right hand. 

Steve did as he was told. He found a bottle of expensive looking whiskey under the player and grabbed the first record in the stack beside it, carefully sliding it out of its dust cover and laying it on the player before dropping the needle to it. It crackled warmly before a softly tinkle of a piano started up.

“I’ll never smile again…” Frank Sinatra crooned and Barnes gave a hollow laugh. 

“Jeez, punk. You sure can pick ‘em.” 

Steve flushed. “I’ll put something else on.” he said hurriedly but Barnes waved a dismissive hand. 

“Forget it. It’s fine. Or it will be once I get some of that whiskey in me.”

Steve bit his lip and crossed the carriage to hand Barnes the bottle. The other man uncorked it an took a swig straight from the neck of the bottle, wincing as it obviously burnt on the way down. Barnes then tilted the neck of the bottle towards Steve. 

“Not gonna let me drink alone, are ya?” he prompted when Steve didn’t immediately take the bottle back from him 

Steve shook his head and palmed the bottle back. He made the mistake of inhaling before the bottle reached his lips and he coughed slightly at the potency of the smell coming from the bottle. Barnes huffed. 

“It ain’t for smellin’” he groused just as Steve worked up the nerve to raise the bottle to his lips and take a long slug. 

It burnt all the way down his throat before settling warm in his gut. He gave a full bodied shiver and passed the bottle back. Barnes took another swig immediately and then seemed to catch sight of his trousers and the mess they were making of his bed spread. 

“Ah, hell!” he cursed and stood. 

He dumped the bottle on the small table between the armchairs and began to pull at his clothes. His shirt went first. Barnes didn’t even bother with the buttons, just pulled it up and over his head, causing his undershirt to bunch up and for a brief moment, Steve was blessed with a tantalising glimpse of the well defined muscles of Barnes’ stomach and chest. 

Steve flushed and looked away. There were two framed pictures hanging on the wall by the door and Steve stepped closed to get a better look. The first was a shot of a woman cradling a sleeping baby wile a little boy clutched at her skirts, warily eyeing the camera. Steve realised suddenly that the little boy with the wary eyes and the mess of dark curls was Barnes, who couldn’t have been more than four or five. He was awfully cute and despite everything, Steve found himself smiling softly. 

The second picture was Barnes as well, older and more recognisable, grinning softly at the camera and cradling two lion cubs, one under each arm. Steve’s smile dropped, knowing that the cubs were Dante and Delilah. He swallowed and turned, not wanting Barnes to catch him looking at the picture and draw attention to it. 

Barnes was watching him. He was also wearing naught but his drawers, his ruined trousers still clutched in his fist. Steve could not help the way his eyes followed the lines of Barnes chest and stomach, down to the thick corded muscles of his thighs. He swallowed and ripped his gaze away, hoping desperately that Barnes was too lost in his grief to recognise the lingering look for what it was. 

Barnes, however, was not watching Steve’s face but rather the space over his left shoulder - the photograph of himself and the cubs - and Steve would have sighed with relief if it weren’t for the way Barnes expression crumpled. He cleared his throat instead, wanting to say something to draw Barnes attention but upon opening his mouth, finding he had nothing to say. He shut it again. 

Thankfully, it was enough and Barnes seemed to come back to himself, realise he was wearing nothing but his drawers and attempt to do something about it all at once. He hauled a trunk from beneath his cot and from it retrieved a pair of flannel sleeping pants, slipping them on before returning to his spot on the bed. He made no move to put on a shirt and Steve felt his cheeks flush hot as Barnes took another long swig from the bottle.

“Come keep a fella company.” Barnes said, patting the space beside him and Steve moved, on stiff legs, to take residence on the other side of the bed. 

Barnes handed the bottle to him and he took an obedient sip, much smaller than the last, before handing it back. The last thing he needed was the alcohol to loosen his tongue or steel away his ability to maintain control over his bodily responses. Having Barnes so close, half-naked and on a bed seemed like something out of one of Steve’s dreams - the ones that left him hard and aching against the thin cot of his mattress and desperately hoping he had not mumbled anything loud enough for Sam to hear before he woke. 

Barnes seemed satisfied though, taking another pull from the bottle before resting it between his thighs with a heat sigh. 

“Do you - do you want to talk?” Steve asked tentatively. 

Barnes shrugged. “Talkin’ ain’t gonna fix it.” he pointed out.  
Steve worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He wanted to do right by his friend - because Barnes was his friend, social conventions of the Big Top be damned - but he had no experience with helping people cope with loss. He had no idea what to say. 

Barnes sighed again. “Shit.” he cursed. “What a mess.” 

Steve nodded solemnly. Sinatra continued to croon in the background. 

“I don’t know what to do now.” Barnes admitted softly - like he was revealing a secret. 

Steve swallowed and placed a cautious hand on the other man’s bare shoulder. “You’ll work something out.” he said, in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.

In honesty, Steve was having a hard time focusing on anything beside the warm expanse of flesh under his hand. At best, he knew that made him a terrible friend. At worst, an invert. He removed his hand just as Barnes turned his sad eyes from the bottle to Steve’s face. 

“Last time we lost a cat was because I shot it dead.” 

Steve blinked. He hadn’t realised that.

“When we lost Lucifer, the cubs were still to young to perform. We only had their mother and Khan in the ring each night.” 

Barnes looked away and took another swig from the whiskey. 

“Ticket sales dropped by more than half. We had to sell three carriages and two specialty tents to cover Fury’s hospital bills and pay the men. It damn near ruined us.” 

Steve sat up a little straighter as he realised that Barnes wasn’t just grieving but also worrying about his entire livelihood. Suddenly, the death grip the other man had around the neck of the whiskey bottle made more sense. 

“What happened wasn’t your fault.” he assured the other man. “Now or then.”

Barnes shrugged and took another drink. Steve could tell that he did not believe him. 

There was a heavy beat of silence before Barnes groaned and scrubbed his free hand roughly across his face. 

“This hooch is going straight to my head.” he said and Steve recognised it for the dismissal it was. 

He eyed the bottle surreptitiously as he stood. There wasn’t a lot left. Not nearly enough for Barnes to do any real damage to himself - unless he had another bottle stashed away. However, Steve wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“Don’t drink too much.” he told Barnes, trying to sound both stern and supportive. “Everything will seem better tomorrow.” 

Barnes scoffed and took another swig. “Yes, mother.” he spot back. 

Steve gave him a flat and surprisingly, Barnes’ mouth twitched upwards. It lasted just long enough for him to send Steve off with one of his trademark salutes, bottle and all. 

*

Steve was smiling as he let himself down from Barnes’ trailer but it did not last. As he made his way down the line of the train, towards his own carriage, he found himself wondering if he had actually managed to cheer Barnes up at all. He doubted it but he didn’t know how to make it right - particularly if Barnes was heaping his fears about ticket sales on top of his grief. 

Sam was out when Steve returned to their trailer. Steve hauled himself in and stood for a moment, just looking. It was hard not to compare the bare walls and sparseness of their carriage to the extravagance of Barnes’ but he didn’t envy the other man for a moment. Barnes’ courage and handwork had earned him his spot in the show’s line-up and all the perks that went along with it.

Still, that didn’t mean his and Sam’s carriage couldn’t do without a tub up. Painting was out. Steve didn’t even know if they were allowed and at any rate, the fumes set his asthma off - something his parents had found out when they’d tried to paint the apartment when Steve was twelve. Similarly, he doubted whether wall paper would adhere to the uneven wood panelling of the walls. 

In his parents’ apartment, the walls had been lined with photographs - another impossibility - and…his drawings. Steve paused, biting his lip in contemplation, suddenly realising what he could offer Barnes in an effort to cheer him up. 

Inspired, he pulled his suitcase from beneath his cot, ratting through his clothes until he found the two graphite pencils he’d brought with him. His sketchbook had been to big and too awkward to carry so he’d left it behind but there were a stack of flyers on the overturned crate between his and Sam’s cot. Sam had been roped into helping hand out flyers earlier in the week to advertise the show. It was hot, boring work according to Sam and he and the other men had packed it in after a couple of neighbourhoods so there were plenty of flyers left over. 

Steve scooped up the discard stack, climbed onto his bed and - with one pencil tucked behind his ear and the other in his hand - began to draw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. Please drop me a line and let me know what you think! Con-crit and comments are ALWAYS welcome. 
> 
> OR you can swing by and hang out with me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fat-hippie) and we can squee about these two goobers together.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve had been pushing down and ignoring urges like the ones Barnes inspired within him for what felt like his whole life. But Barnes was so much more than the men Steve would sneak glances at when he took his father’s lunch down to the docks. So much more than Sarah O’Connor’s older brother that would pick her up from school every Friday afternoon. 
> 
> So much more. Just - so much more. 
> 
> And it was so much harder for Steve to ignore the flame in his gut that sparked bright every time he looked at Barnes and wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this chapter took so long. Please don't hate me...

By the time Steve had to return to the Mess to help Frigga prepare the evening meal, he had the rough line work of his sketch done and was already more than a little frustrated. His hand was unpractised and had cramped more than once which made him dread finishing the shadowing of the piece. Even though it had been less than a month since he had last drawn, he was rusty in a way that he had never experienced before - even during times when he was unable to hold a pencil for days on end because of one malay or another. He just wanted the piece to be perfect - so good that it would help to raise Barnes’ spirits after all that had happened. 

He thought about Barnes and the piece all through the afternoon and was so distracted that Frigga had to repeat her instructions a number of times. The news of what had happened had obviously travelled fast though because every time Steve shook himself out of his own thoughts and apologised for not having heard what Frigga had said, she just gave him a small soft smile and repeated herself. 

Steve saw the same soft look from both Pepper and Darcy as they filed through the line for their evening meal. Sam - who he hadn’t seen since that morning - and the other roustabouts gave him solemn nods rather than jibe him about the appearance or smell of the food as they usually did. Apparently, he and Barnes spent so much time together that others now recognised them as a duo. The thought mad his heart ache for Barnes, who - despite having such a long history with the show - did not seem to have ever had a friend before. 

After dinner and once the bulk of the washing up had been done, Frigga shooed Steve away with a plate of leftovers. 

“Grief doesn’t do much for appetite.” she told him. “But the boy needs to eat.” 

Steve nodded and did not mention the half bottle of whiskey that Barnes had sucked down on an empty stomach. He thanked her graciously and set out for Barnes’ rooms. 

Walking so far up the line still felt odd to Steve and the feeling was only exacerbated by the fact that some of the other performers were also returning to their carriages. The red head from the knife throwing act - Natasha, Barnes had called - watched him with cool calculating eyes as he hurried by the open mouth of her car but when he dared to glance back at her, he thought he might’ve seen her smile. 

There was no response when he knocked on Barnes’ carriage which did not surprise Steve. If he himself had drank as much as Barnes - and on an empty stomach - he’d be asleep on his feet. Still, he did not want to leave the food out in the elements to spoil and, he reasoned, Barnes would certainly be sleeping so heavily that Steve would not wake him if he simply put the food down and left. 

Decision made, Steve hauled the carriage door open just enough to squeeze through and pulled himself up before fetching the plate he had left resting on the lip of the car. The carriage was illuminated by the dim light of the lamp by Barnes bedside and Barnes - as Steve had guessed - was strew across his bed, still fully clothed and dirtying the covers with the mud on his boots. He was also snoring softly. 

The side of Steve’s mouth tugged upwards as he took in his friend’s sleeping form. Barnes had never looked so unguarded, so young. Sleep smoothed out his features in a way Steve had never seen before and hid the hardness that sometimes crept into the corners of the other man’s blue eyes. 

It wasn't until Steve moved to place the plate of food on the beside table that he noticed the bottles, one empty and another only a quarter full, nestled next to one another at the side of the bed. Steve felt the smile slip from his face and he threw another worried glance over Barnes.

He didn’t know a lot about alcohol. It wasn’t something that had ever factored heavily in his life except afterwards, when his father had locked himself in his work shed and drank himself into a drunken, sloppy rage. Steve winced as the memory of the sweetly rotten tang of rum on his father’s breath washed over him.  
“Ste’eb?”

Steve started at the sound and his eyes snapped back to find Barnes gazing at him blearily. 

“Hey.” he replied. “I brought you some dinner.” 

Barnes smiled dopily and stretched, groaning when his joints popped. 

“Al’ys lookin’ out f’me.” he mumbled and made a move to sit up, only to groan and lay back down. “R’ms spinnin’” he admitted. 

Steve huffed. “Of course it’s spinning. You drank the wrong side of an entire bottle of whiskey on an empty stomach, you ninny.” 

Barnes frowned and threw an arm across his eyes. 

“I brought you some dinner.” Steve said then but Barnes just groaned again. 

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to tell Frigga you said that about her cooking.” he warned. 

From beneath his arm, Barnes’ lips curved upwards. 

“Punk.” he breathed and Steve managed a smile in response. 

“Jerk.” he replied. 

Barnes smile grew wider and he removed the arm across his eyes to scrub at his face. Steve could see the other man’s five o’clock shadow coming in around his jaw. 

“You should eat something.” Steve prodded. 

“Yes, mother.” Barnes replied but the jibe held no bite. It was the second time he’d said it to Steve in the one day. 

He squinted up at Steve and Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Barnes was handsome. Noone could deny that - male or female. But sprawled out on his sheets, limbs long, hair ruffled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and lips red from too many swigs from the bottle; he was somehow beyond that. 

Steve had been pushing down and ignoring urges like the ones Barnes inspired within him for what felt like his whole life. But Barnes was so much more than the men Steve would sneak glances at when he took his father’s lunch down to the docks. So much more than Sarah O’Connor’s older brother that would pick her up from school every Friday afternoon. 

Just - so much more. 

And it was so much harder for Steve to ignore the flame in his gut that sparked bright every time he looked at Barnes and wanted. 

With a start, Steve realised he had been staring at Barnes for a inordinate amount of time. He flushed and looked away but not before realising Barnes had been watching him too. 

“I’m gonna go.” he said to his feet. “Leave you to sleep it off.” 

Barnes only hummed but as Steve lowered himself from the carriage, he also called out a soft thank-you. 

“Good night, James.” Steve called back and grinned when the name made Barnes sqwark. 

“Good night, you punk.” echoed from the carriage as Steve pulled the door to. 

*

Sam was back at their carriage when Steve returned and Steve had to work hard to keep the disappointment from his face. He had wanted to finish his drawing of Barnes but did not feel like he could with the other man around. Especially not when the first question out of Sam’s mouth was: 

“How’s your boy doin’?” 

Steve shook his head. “He ain’t my anything.” he said, meaner than he meant to. 

Sam held his hands up in surrender. “He’s your friend.” he amended. 

Steve sighed. “Sorry.” he muttered as he crossed to his bunk and began to pull at his laces. “Long day.” 

Sam nodded and Steve remembered with a jolt that Sam had been the one men to clean up in the menagerie. 

“So how’s he doin’?” Sam repeated. 

“He’s drunk.” Steve admitted and Sam nodded. 

“Understandably.” 

Steve pulled off his unlaced boots and tucked then under his coat. Sam was watching him when he straightened up. 

“How are you doin’?” Sam asked and Steve shrugged, not knowing how to answer. 

“I -” he began but then stopped. “I haven’t ever seen that much blood.” he said finally. 

Sam nodded. 

There was a beat of silence and Steve suddenly remembered something Barnes had said. 

“Barnes said last time, last time when -” Steve cleared his throat. “When Lucifer…” 

Sam nodded, urging Steve on. 

“He said ticket sales dropped. Badly.” Steve concluded. 

Sam sighed. “Yeah.” he breathed after a moment. “They did.” 

Steve’s stomach dropped. “He thinks it’s his fault. Then and now. He’s worried that -”

Sam was shaking his head. “It isn’t. It wasn’t. Things got -” he paused for a moment, as if looking for the right word. “Bad last time. We didn’t eat more than a single meal a day for about three weeks straight and people get pretty testy when they’re hungry.” 

Steve bit his lip. 

“But it was - we’d seen worse. People were just glad that Fury made it. He’s the best Ringleader we’ve had.” 

Steve thought on that for a moment. “You’ve said that before.” he observed.  
Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

“When I first arrived.” Steve explained. “You said Fury was ‘fairer’ than the last Ringleader. What did you mean by that?” 

Sam ran a hand over his face. 

“Has anyone told you about Pierce?” he asked in a tone that made Steve sit up a little straighter on his cot. 

Steve shook his head and Sam took a deep breath, as though steadying himself. 

“Pierce was Ringleader before Fury.” Sam clarified. “He was - well, he was downright scum.” 

Steve felt his eyes widen. 

“He took the largest percentage of the alfalfa and paid his top acts just enough to keep them around. Fed the animals before he fed the men. We only got paid if there was enough let over. People were dispensable to him.” Sam said all at once and Steve’s mind reeled as he tried to take in the information.

Sam swallowed and Steve watched his Adam’s apple bob. 

“He used to red-light people.” Sam said then, softer. 

Steve frowned in confusion and when Sam looked up, he laughed hollowly at the expression on Steve’s face. 

“You don’t know what red-lighting is, huh?” 

Steve shook his head and Sam’s mouth formed a thin, unhappy line. 

“When the money was tight - and it was almost always tight with him skimping off the top - he didn’t have enough money to pay the men. Sometimes, people spoke up. And sometimes, those people disappeared.” 

Steve’s breath caught around a gasp. 

“In the end, he’d only have to hear a whisper that someone had said something and his henchmen would come for them in the night and by the time the train stopped the next morning, they’d be gone.” 

“He had them thrown from a moving train?” Steve cried. 

“He had them murdered.” Sam corrected. “Let’s call it what it was.” 

Steve swallowed hard. 

“How many?”

Sam shook his head. 

“Hard to say. I knew at least half a dozen of the men that disappeared. But there were others. Countless others.” 

“Why didn’t anyone stop him?” Steve demanded. 

Sam snorted. “He was in charge. Made the decision whether we ate or went hungry. Made the decision if we made it to the next stop or if we…didn’t.” 

Steve felt sick. He knew enough of the crew to know that more than a quarter of them were with the show when Fury had taken over, including Barnes. 

“What happened to Pierce?” he asked. 

Sam sighed, opened his mouth and then seemed to think better and closed it again. Steve watched the other man wrestle with himself and felt his stomach twist tight. By the time Sam seemed to come to terms with his answer, Steve felt as though he already knew the answer. 

“It was Barnes.” 

Steve’s breath caught again. 

“He killed him?” 

Sam nodded, face grim. 

“But he…” Steve paused, trying to work the numbers out in his head. “He was only sixteen when Fury got hurt.”

Sam hung his head. “I know.”

“So he was - when…?” Steve trailed off. 

“Just newly fifteen.” 

Steve ran his hands through his hair to hide the fact that they had begun to shake. 

“Did he shoot him?” he asked, thinking of Lucifer and the men that had taught Barnes to fire a gun. 

Sam shook his head. “I shouldn’t have told you any of this.” he said then. 

“What?” Steve asked. 

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t been told before. Barnes had killed a man - a bad man, but a man none the less. 

“It wasn’t my place to say anything.” Sam tried to explain. 

“Does everyone know?” Steve asked. 

Sam’s mouth returned to the thin, unhappy line. He dipped his head once. 

“So why didn’t-“ Steve began but then stopped. “Why-I mean, what-” 

He felt shaken to his core, blindsided. He could not reconcile the man that had cried over Delilah, who called Steve ‘punk’ and made it sound like a endearment, who tried to scam seconds at every meal with his stupid pulp-dog eyes, who had fast become the closest thing to a best friend that Steve had ever had and who had looked so devastatingly handsome, sprawled drunkenly across his bed was the same man who had-

Sam shook his head again, effectively silencing Steve’s broken questions and his disjointed thought process.. “No disrespect but you don’t know all the facts-”

“So tell me!” Steve demanded. 

Sam’s jaw tightened, his mouth pursing harshly. “I’ve already said too much.” he argued. “Believe me, Steve.” 

Steve watched his friend for a long moment but Sam didn’t falter. His breath left him at the realisation he was not going to get the answers he wanted - the answers he needed - from Sam. 

Sam deflated a moment after he had. 

“Try not to think on it.” he suggested. “Barnes did us all a favour. Seriously.” 

Steve bit his lip and nodded. Sam seemed satisfied and lay down in his cot, pulling out an old comic from beneath his pillow. Steve had seen Sam read it at least twice before but he appreciated the effort that his friend dedicated to making it seem as though he wasn’t watching him. 

Steve lay down on his own cot and turned his back to Sam, staring hard at the wall and trying to align his thoughts. 

*

Later, after Sam had fallen asleep - his comic spread over his chest and his boots still on - Steve fished out his half-finished sketch from beneath his pillow and stared at the lines of Barnes’ face. He had drawn Barnes smiling - an expression that Steve coveted and cherished - but suddenly Barnes looked like a stranger and his smile seemed distorted and wrong. 

Steve sighed and folded the picture in two, hiding Barnes’ smiling face from view. He considered it for a second longer, wondering if he should tear into pieces. He wanted to. 

He sighed and instead, tucked the drawing back beneath his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love it? Hate it? Please let me know. 
> 
> Or come hang out with me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fat-hippie) and squee about these goobers.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Steve.” Barnes said, a plaintive note in his voice. “Why did you leave?” 
> 
> Steve let out an unsteady breath. 
> 
> “Because I had to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy this instalment.

Barnes did not show up for breakfast in the morning. Steve helped Frigga serve and then sat with Sam and the other men and ate his porridge and drank his coffee in silence, unable to even plaster a smile across his face to ward off Sam’s increasingly worried glances. 

Inside, Steve was in knots and it seemed as though every inch of his mind was taken over with trying to reconcile his friend and the man he thought he knew with someone who was capable of the things Sam said Barnes had done. His months with the show had shown him a slither of what life could be like when times were tough and he knew that sometimes desperate times called for desperate measures - but murder? 

Steve swallowed, hard, trying to shift the uneasiness that had settled in his gut. 

Sam had said that Pierce was the worst kind of man - that he had killed others, or at least, given the orders for them to be killed, that he was greedy and didn’t provide for the people who were under his care but even when Steve tried to focus on that element of it - he could not imagine Barnes killing someone. Sure, Barnes looked tough and spoke rough but it had only taken Steve a matter of weeks to see passed that to the man Barnes really was - the man who cried when one of his charges died, who cradled Delilah’s head in his lap and talked softly to her as she slipped away, who had a younger sister that he was fiercely proud of, who always called Frigga ‘Ma’am’, who missed his own adoptive mother and often spoke of her fondly. 

The picture of Barnes that Steve had been building in his head, with every small bit of information that he gleaned either from or about the other man, had been dashed by Sam’s revelation - seemingly irrevocably shattered by the truth of what Barnes was actually capable of. 

Steve took a swig from his coffee and winced when he discovered it was luke warm. When he looked up, he was surprised to find the table empty, the other men having left and cleared their trays whilst he was lost inside his own head. Sam watched him from the other side of the table. 

“I never should have said nothin’.” The other man said wearily. 

Steve flexed his jaw in an effort to keep it closed. There were others on the tables around them and all Steve wanted to do was shout at Sam to tell him more, to give him all the details, to try and help him understand why Barnes had done what he did and why there hadn’t been any repercussions. 

Sam watched him for a moment longer before glancing over both his shoulders to make sure there was none else within earshot, before leaning across the table, his features settling into a hard, stern look. 

“You can sit there with a face like a slapped ass all you like but I warned you about Barnes from the start.” Sam whispered heatedly. “I warned you and you still trailed after him like a lost puppy so don’t act like the guy’s a saint when I told you-” 

The uneasiness is Steve’s stomach had begun to twist itself into something darker, something hotter. 

“You’re gonna wanna stop talkin’.” He told Sam and his voice was just as low, had twice the edge and made Sam blink in surprise. 

“What-?” Sam started. 

“You don’t know him.” Steve said, trying hard to keep his voice down but not entirely succeeding. “You don’t know him at all. Ain’t no one here does.” 

Sam shook his head. “I’d wager you’re right. He’s been here since he was a baby and he ain’t got a friend in the world. But there’s a reason for that.” 

“It ain’t him.” Steve shot back. “He ain’t the reason.” 

Sam scoffed. “He is.” he argued. “People are scared of him.”

“Because they don’t know him!” Steve retorted.   
“No, kid.” Sam said and Steve’s anger flared hot at the nickname. “Because they do. Because they know what happened and they know   
what he’s capable of.” 

“So tell me!” Steve begged. “Tell me so I can make up my own mind. Hell, you said it yourself - you warned me off him! Tell me and I’ll stay away from him.” 

Sam looked a little chagrin at that. “Now, that ain’t what I meant. We all have things in our past that we wouldn’t want people to judge us on and -”

Steve made a harsh noise of frustration in his throat that was so loud it cut Sam off and made two of the men on the table by theirs turn around and consider Steve with matching bemused expressions. Steve flushed and turned his face away. 

Sam smiled at the men over his shoulder and did not turn back to Steve until they had looked away again. When he spoke next, it was in an even quieter whisper. 

“Look, Steve, these last two months - Barnes ain’t been the same. He’s been - nicer, friendlier. I’ve even seen him making an effort to talk to people besides Fury and the menagerie men. Hell, he came out dancin’ with us all the other night and I coulda sworn he was flirtin’ with Carter-”

Steve pointedly ignored the swopping sensation in his gut and continued to stare down hard at the table. 

“But he ain’t ever been like that before. There’s something in his head that’s not right, you understand? He was twelve when Pierce arrived and he spent three years working as a 24-hour man and not saying a word to anyone. Used to steal the men’s pistols and shoot at cans until he ran out of ammo. Then he - well - then after Pierce, Fury takes over and all of a sudden, Barnes is in with the big cats. He starts talking again, gets on the Bill and starts giving orders. Then he shoots Lucifer - straight between the eyes, mind - and people start to realise there’s a trend. That the kid is fifteen and good at killing and that’s just downright unsettling. Seeing him covered head to toe in blood yesterday brought back a lot of bad memories for a lot of people and -”

Steve’s head whipped up at that. 

“Why?” he demanded. “When else was he covered in blood?” 

Sam frowned. “You know when.” he said, tone heavy with implication. 

Steve swallowed. Pierce, his brain supplied, Barnes had been covered in blood when he had killed Pierce. Which meant he’d been close. Close enough to wound Pierce badly enough that he’d bled enough to cover Barnes with it. 

Steve’s stomach rolled and he was on his feet before he registered moving. 

*

He made it outside the Mess, slipping between a part in the canvas, before the contents of his stomach reemerged with enough force to knock him to his knees. He coughed and spluttered and winced as the acidic smell of vomit burnt along his nasal passage and down the back of his throat. 

“Ah, hell.” he heard Sam mutter behind him and then there was a warm hand rubbing smoothing circles on his back.   
Steve heaved again and winced some more as the bile caught in his throat and made him cough. God, the last thing he needed was an asthma attack. 

“I’m fine.” he muttered, pushing back into Sam’s hand and resting on his haunches. “Sorry. I’m okay.” 

“Yeah.” Sam said and it seemed to acknowledge Steve’s claim and justify his reaction all at once. 

Steve sighed. “Just caught me by surprise - the image of it.” 

Sam helped him to his feet. “Then maybe now you can see why people are wary of him?” 

Steve considered his friend’s face for a long moment but all he found there was a genuine concern that made him feel a little nauseous all over again. Sam thought he was doing the right thing by trying to protect Steve but Steve was still not convinced he needed protecting from Barnes - especially when he thought about how Barnes had looked asleep and vulnerable on his bed the night before. 

“They’re wrong.” Steve said. “Sam, they are. He ain’t bad.” 

Sam sighed. 

“He’s not!” Steve said. “God knows he’s got an exterior on him like the wrong side of a cactus but its only for show. And he - you said he did those things because people were suffering. Hell, he saved Fury’s life!” 

Sam was shaking his head as Steve spoke. “You ain’t gonna give up on him, are ya?” he asked and Steve shut his mouth with a click. 

He shook his head. “Don’t seem right to.” he said. 

“Then you’re either a better or stupider man than me.” Sam said. “I haven’t decided which yet.” 

And despite everything, Steve grinned, chuckling a little helplessly when Sam smiled back and cuffed him lightly on the back of his head. 

*

Sam left to start his work after the fifth time Steve had promised that he was okay, that they were okay, and that he would fess up to Frigga immediately if he started to feel queasy again. 

“I just don’t want my meat to be served with a side of pre-chewed vegetables tonight, that’s all.” Sam joked but Steve was able to tell that there was genuine concern underlying Sam’s jibes. 

Sam knew a little of his poor health but Steve had not revealed the true extent of his maladies. Even so, Sam had been a little more careful with him of late, which Steve hated but also grudgingly appreciated. 

“Might just make yours special.” he told Sam. “Meat and spit-gravy.” 

Sam laughed. “Frigga would have your head.” he shot back and Steve had to shrug, unable to deny what was a definite truth. 

Despite the morning’s events, he returned to the kitchens with a smile on his face. Frigga set him to work prepping for the evening’s meal and then set off to fetch another lot of water to boil, leaving him alone to chop the vegetables. 

“Steve?” 

Steve jumped at the unexpected voice and the knife slipped and hit his thumb, nicking it. Steve swore and clamped his other hand around it as it began to bleed. Barnes rushed over from the mouth of the tent, catching Steve by the shoulders as he tried to curl over his wounded hand, pain throbbing up his arm. 

“Shit, are you alright?” Barnes asked and Steve glared. 

“No, I ain’t alright. What sort of eejit sneaks up on a guy while he’s wielding a knife?!” he demanded. 

He straightened up and uncurled his hand from around his thumb, glancing down at the damage. It wasn’t a deep cut as far as he could tell but it stung like hell.

Barnes huffed. “I dunno if cutting carrots counts as weilding.” He retorted once he had also assessed the wound. 

“Yeah, well, you sure count as an eejit.” Steve huffed, wincing as he lifted his injured digit to his mouth and sucked away the excess blood. 

He had expected Barnes to fire back another witty remark but the other man was uncharacteristically silent and when Steve looked up, Barnes’ attention was focused on Steve’s mouth. A second later, Barnes seemed to realise that Steve was watching him and he jerked away, his hands leaving Steve’s shoulders and his eyes skittering away across the floor. 

Steve flushed a little and used the opportunity to catalogue how Barnes was fairing. The other man did look a little rougher than usual. He hadn’t shaved or changed his shirt from the day before and his eyes were sunken with a lack of sleep. 

“You look like shit.” Steve mumbled around his thumb and Barnes gave a short humourless chuckle as he leant back against the island bench. 

“I feel like shit.” he confessed. “Never seem to remember how awful I feel after I’m done feelin’ good.” 

Steve scoffed and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, using his teeth and free hand to tie it around his injured thumb. It wasn’t until he looked up and caught Barnes smirking that he realised it was the one Barnes had given him weeks previously. He bit his lip and turned away, awkwardly fumbling the knife when he tried to pick it up once more. 

Seeing Barnes - especially sleep-rumpled as he was - made it even harder to try and align his friend with the person Sam had described. Steve desperately wanted to the details of what had happened but there was not a chance in hell he was going to ask Barnes outright. 

“Steve?” Barnes said expectantly.

“Huh?” Steve turned, flushing again when he realised that he had been so lost in thought that he had obviously missed something Barnes had said. 

He flushed harder when he realised what Barnes was holding. 

It was his unfinished drawing. The one of Barnes that he had hidden beneath his pillow the night before. 

“What - where did you get that?!” he choked out. 

He abandoned the knife of the chopping block and reacher out to snatch the drawing back but Barnes simply pulled it back out of his reach. 

“Went to your carriage this morning and it was just laying on your bed.” Barnes informed him. “You drew this?”   
Steve face felt like it was on fire. 

“Yeah,” he huffed. “What’s it to ya?” 

“It’s me.” Barnes pointed out. 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”

Barnes rolled his eyes. “Would you unruffled for five seconds?” he demanded. “I’m trying to tell you that this is damn good.” He shook the drawing for emphasis and Steve deflated with a surprised whoosh of breath. 

“What?”

“It’s good! It’s great in fact.” 

“It’s not even finished.” Steve protested weakly. 

Barnes scoffed. “It looks pretty damn polished to me.” He flicked the flyer over and examined the sketch once more. “You didn’t tell me you could draw like this.” 

“It never came up.” Steve pointed out. 

Barnes looked up from the sketch, frowning. “Yes, I did! That first morning by Fury’s trailer. I asked you if you had a talent that Fury could use in the show.” 

Steve frowned in confusion. “What? I’m gonna set up an easel in the Big Top and draw the audience?” he asked. 

Barnes rolled his eyes. “No, you punk. But you could set up in a tent in the lot and draw pictures for the rubes. Portraits, film stars, acts from the spec - you know?” 

“I ain’t that good! Noone’s gonna pay cash for that.” he protested but Barnes would not be swayed. 

“You are and they would.” he retorted. “That’s why I came to find you. I wanna pitch the idea to Fury.” 

Steve’s felt his eye bulge in surprise. “No!” he cried. 

Barnes frowned, taken aback by Steve’s vehement reaction. “What? Why not?” 

“Because -” Steve started but then ran short of words, unable to explain. “Because - it’s, it’s just not, I’m not…” Steve trailed off as he realised that the reasons running through his mind sound weak even to him. 

He sighed. “At least let me finish the sketch before you show Fury.” he bargained. 

But Barnes shook his head, slipping the sketch back into his trouser pocket. “Nuh-uh.” he told Steve. “This one is mine. You can do some more. Like a - a portfolio!” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I ain’t got that sorta time.” he argued. 

Barnes shrugged. “We leave for Boston the day after tomorrow. You’ll have plenty of time to draw on the train.” 

Steve froze. Boston - in two days. They were leaving. In two days. 

Steve hadn’t ever been out of the state before. 

Before running away, the longest time he had spent away from his own home was comprised of a hellish week spent in the hospital when he was thirteen when he had somehow managed to contract a chest and a sinus infection at the same time. But his mother had stayed with him the entire time. Now there would be hundreds of miles between them.

He swallowed hard around the lump that swelled suddenly in his throat. He had been kept so busy since arriving at the show that he had barely had time to think on how much he missed his parents - how much he missed his home. But now, faced with the reality of leaving it so far behind - Steve felt suddenly and completely overwhelmed. 

Getting on the train in two days time meant leaving and with what little Steve had managed to save - it also meant possibly not returning for a long while. It meant that his decision to leave home did not only encompass the house he had left behind, but also the city in which he had grown up. It meant leaving behind every thing that was familiar and trading it in for a life that held no fixed backdrop, no certainty. 

Without even glancing towards the other man, Steve knew that Barnes was watching him. He could feel the weight of the other man’s gaze on his face and then on his shaking hands as he raised them to rub at the tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. 

“Alright?” Barnes asked and Steve shrugged. 

“I didn’t realise that we left so soon.” Steve admitted softly. “I - uh - haven’t ever been away from home this long. I’ve never even left the state.” 

Barnes’ eyebrows shot up and Steve had to look away. He already felt enough of a mook for allowing himself to get emotional, he did not need to watch Barnes judge him for the life he had lead before joining the show. 

“Must’ve been nice.” Barnes said and Steve’s looked up, surprised. 

The expression of Barnes’ face was not one of judgement but something softer, something almost wistful. 

“I grew up with the show.” Barnes reminded him. “I’ve never had a place to call home except the corner of a train carriage. Must’ve been nice to have some place that was familiar.”

Steve nodded jerkily, a hard knot in his chest coming loose and falling away once he realised that Barnes was not judging him for what he’d had but rather, was sympathising with Steve for what he had lost. 

“Yeah.” he choked out. “It was.” 

Steve thought of his mother’s cooking and coming home to the smell of fresh bread, of the sound of his father’s tuneless whistling and the scent of their old, worn in sofa. He thought of sickly sweet lemonade in the Summer and cups of hot soup in the Winter and   
the hugs his mother gave him when he arrived home from school. 

Then he remembered how those hugs had stopped after the truth had come out, how his father’s whistling had turned into stony, unbearable silence, how evenings spent snuggled on the sofa listening to the radio and turned into nights shut away in his room avoiding his mother’s sad eyes and his father’s solemn frown. 

Steve swallowed, cursing wetly when the tears in his eyes managed to spill over. He wiped them away with the cuff of one sleeve as Barnes watched. His thumb throbbed with the movement. 

“Steve.” Barnes said, a plaintive note in his voice. “Why did you leave?” 

Steve let out an unsteady breath. 

“Because I had to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love it? Hate it? Please let me know. 
> 
> You could also come hang with me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fat-hippie) as I spend most of my time there reblogging Stucky and whining about how adorkable these two are.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It wasn’t your fault.” he whispered, to both himself and Barnes. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay:  
> 1\. I am so incredibly sorry about how long this instalment took. 
> 
> 2\. This instalment has not been beta'ed and I apologise in advance for any typos. 
> 
> 3\. This instalment deals with some heavy stuff so WARNINGS for mentions of physical and sexual abuse, violence and homophobia. (Please let me know if you think anything else should be tagged.)

As the words left his mouth, Steve knew he had said too much. Barnes’ eyebrows leapt upwards and his eyes sparked bright with interest. Steve bit his lip and cursed himself inwardly, wishing he could pluck the words from the air and swallow them back down his throat. He knew Barnes would never give up now - not until he had the whole story out of Steve. 

But Steve couldn’t tell him the whole story - not the truth of it anyway. If Steve’s own parents hadn’t been able to understand, hadn’t been able to look at their son again without seeing some dirty, tainted thing - what hope did he have of keeping Barnes as a friend when the other man discovered what had happened, what he was? His mind whirled - trying desperately to come up with something to tell Barnes other than the truth that he could not - and as it did, he considered how unfair it was for him to keep his own secrets when he already knew so many of Barnes’. 

Barnes was still watching him and Steve huffed, the expectation heavy in Barnes’ gaze making his hackles rise. Especially because he could not come up with a substantial sort of lie to spin when he had Barnes’ piercing blue eyes trained on him. 

Barnes smirked, amused as he often was by Steve’s surliness. 

“What?” Steve groused, rubbing hastily at his eyes. 

“You’re the only fella I know that can go from sad to stroppy in two seconds flat.” Barnes explained. 

Steve growled and pulled the collar of his shirt up to rub over his face. He knew Barnes was right. He knew he had a temper but his mother had always told him that anger was a secondary emotion, a delayed reaction that flared to life in an attempt to cover up the real emotion beneath it. Steve huffed, thumbing another set of tears away and wondered inanely who he would go to for advice once he left his mother and old life behind. 

“Well, you don’t half push my buttons, ya know?” he told Barnes. “I had to leave home and I can’t go back. That’s all there is too it.” 

Barnes’ smirk fell away. He assessed Steve silently for a long moment and Steve was about to turn away, almost convinced Barnes was about to let it go when the other man spoke again. 

“Day you turned up here, you had creases in your trousers.” he said.

Steve felt his brow furrow in confusion. It seemed an odd sort of detail for Barnes to remember about the day they met. 

“Yeah, so?” 

“Your shoes had been polished, too.” Barnes continued. “You looked very proper.” 

Steve glanced down at his stained shirt, torn trousers and hand-me-down work boots and then back at Barnes. 

“You got a point?” he asked. 

Barnes nodded. “You turned up here looking like you were on your way to church - and given it was a Sunday, I’d bet my last dime that’s where you’d have gone had the urge to run away not possessed you instead.” 

Steve looked away, shaken. He had been dressed in his Sunday best - the clothes his mother had pressed and spread out for him the night before. He’d woken early and dressed in the dark before pulling his ready-packed suitcase from beneath his bed and sneaking out his bedroom window. He had made it to the train station just as dawn had broken and had caught the very first train into the city. 

He had not even left a note. 

“You had a home.” Barnes concluded. “That makes you different from almost every other drifter and orphan-brat that blows through here. You had a home - and a family, I’d wager - and you left it behind.”

Steve flexed his hands by his sides, emotions warring inside him, all trying to bubble over at once. He bit his lip harshly in an effort to keep them at bay.

“What I want to know is why.” 

Steve opened his eyes to find Barnes watching him intently. The other man didn’t look annoyed or perturbed. In fact, he looked confused - concerned, even - and Steve felt his resolve crack a little under the weight of Barnes’ gaze. He looked away once more in an effort to shield himself from Barnes’ searching eyes.

“I just had to.” he said once more but it the sentiment was beginning to sound weak even in his own ears. 

"You do something bad?" Barnes asked suddenly. 

Steve froze. 

"You on the run from the law?" Barnes asked. "Did you hurt someone? Did you kill someone, huh Stevie?" Steve's head snapped up at the accusation and he caught Barnes smirk. 

Steve's stomach swooped low when he realised that Barnes was teasing him. It unsettled him that Barnes could joke about such things when he had - 

"Steve?" Barnes asked, concern creeping into his voice and Steve realised he had been silent for a long while. 

Barnes was still smirking at him but his expression was less sure and it wavered for a moment when Steve met his gaze, before slipping away completely when Steve opened his mouth only to find he could not form the words. 

"Steve?" Barnes said again, serious. "Tell me you didn't-"

Steve shook his head vigorously, snapping out of it suddenly. "No! No. I didn't ...hurt anyone." He assured his friend. 

Barnes sighed in relief and Steve swallowed around the dryness of his mouth. He wondered if Barnes would judge him if that was his crime, if Barnes would turn him away, unaware that Steve knew about his own past. 

"Well then," Barnes said. "I don't see what could possibly be so bad that you had to leave." 

Steve sighed, resignation settling heavy across his shoulders. He would have to tell and he would have to spin it more convincingly than when his mother had forced the truth from him. She had seen through Steve’s bluff, had known that he had enjoyed it and had dirtied the front of his trousers despite how wrong it was. She hadn’t been able to meet Steve’s eye afterwards. She hadn’t come to him on the quiet nights when he knew she must’ve been able to year him crying himself to sleep. 

“You were right.” he said once he managed to find his voice once more. “I was wearing my Sunday best when I arrived here. My ma had pressed them and lay them out for me the night before - she’d even polished my shoes. She always thought it was important to dress smart for Church, ya know? Respectful.” 

When he paused to swallow down the tightness in his throat, Barnes nodded, urging him on. 

“We went to Church every Sunday, rain or shine. All three of us…” Steve trailed off, unsure how to continue. 

Barnes watched him, expectation radiating from him. Steve had never had a friend like Barnes. He doubted he ever would again once his secret was out. Would they make him leave the show? Where would he go? Maybe he had been a fool to leave, maybe he should have stayed and borne the brunt of his parents’ disdain. Maybe that was God’s plan for him and this foray had only been to tease him with what could have been - to show him what people like him didn’t deserve. 

Steve’s eyes prickled and he breathed out harshly, frustrated when he realised the tears were back. Yes, he had been overwhelmed at the thought of leaving behind his home and his family but the thought of losing Barnes, Sam, the show? It almost undid him then and there. 

Barnes’ forehead had creased with confusion and what Steve thought might’ve been concern and he couldn’t bear it anymore. 

“Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind” Steve said, voice rough. He watched Barnes’ eyes widen in surprise and let his own slip shut, tears spilling over as they did so. He did not want to see the shift in Barnes’ expression from concern to disdain. “For it is an abomination.” 

Silence descended over the tent, interrupted only by the sound of Steve’s wet sniffling. After a long while, he opened his eyes and could just make out Barnes’ blurry outline through his tears. 

“You…” Barnes said but trailed off. 

Steve shook his head though he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. “There was a boy. At school. He used to push me around. Call me names. I always tried to stand up for myself but he was bigger. Stronger.” He drew in a breath. “One day he - he cornered me in the boy’s lavatory and he, he pushed me up against the wall.” 

The more he spoke, the more Steve felt as though a dam had burst inside him. Everything he’d been keeping inside - hadn’t even said out loud because there had been so many people willing to take the words out of his mouth and twist the scenario to fit there needs - came rushing out in a torrent of half-garbled, emotion-wrecked words. 

“I thought he was going to hit me - maybe break my nose. He’d been threatening to. Said it’d pretty me up.” He scrubbed the back of his wrist across his face, eyes locked on the space just above Barnes right shoulder. “But he didn’t. He wanted something - something else.” 

He took another deep breath, wincing when it shuddered into his lungs. 

“And he took it. He held me down and he just-“

Steve cut himself off when he saw Barnes move out of the corner of his eye. This was it. Barnes was going to walk out on him. Steve didn’t blame him. What was he doing? Speaking of such a shameful act in such detail? He was probably turning Barnes’ stomach. He was probably -

Steve’s thought process shuddered to an abrupt halt when he felt arms close around him. He gasped and almost choked on the warm, clean smell of Barnes’ skin - something he had only caught whiffs of before, but now found himself swaddled in as his friend enveloped him into a tight embrace. 

“Wha-what are you doing?” he choked out, his face buried against Barnes’ chest, his own arms hanging useless at his sides, paralysed by shock. 

“Shut up.” Barnes bit out and Steve was taken back by how rough his friend’s voice sounded - almost as if he were close to tears himself. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

The words shocked a small hurt noise from Steve’s throat as they touched some unearthed, tender part of him. No-one had ever explicitly suggested that what had happened had been his fault but it had been implied, Steve felt, in the way he had been treated as a result of what had happened. 

Sometimes he even thought that what had happened was a punishment for what he was - that because he was an invert, an abomination - he automatically lost the right to choose when his body was used by others. It made sense to him. Yes, his body had reacted physically but afterwards he had felt like there was dirt on his skin that would not come off - some sort of stain that announced to everyone that he was a sinner and a pervert. 

But as Barnes held him, the surety that Steve had condemned himself with began to waver. He hadn’t asked for Robert to force himself upon him and even though he’d been having perverse urges all his life, he had never acted on them and often asked God for forgiveness. He had tried to be good. He had -

The sound of someone clearing their throat from the front of the tent made Steve push away from Barnes as though he been electrocuted. 

Frigga regarded them from the mouth of the tent and Steve watched as the bemused expression on her face slipped to one of concern as she took in both sets of red eyes and Steve’s damn cheeks. 

“What’s going on?” she demanded, though her tone was soft with worry.

Steve opened his mouth, only to shut it when no words came forth. 

“Steve didn’t realise the show was moving on so soon.” Barnes said and Steve was impressed by how steady the other man’s voice was. “He’s feeling a bit overwhelmed about leaving is all.” 

The lie did not cover Barnes’ own glassy eyes but after a long moment of quiet, during which Frigga regarded both of them, she gave a single nod of her head as though she had accepted the explanation. 

“And you’ve hurt your hand!” she exclaimed as she caught sight of Steve’s wrapped finger. “Let me see.”

Steve mouthed a silent ‘thank-you’ over Frigga’s shoulder at Barnes as the woman fussed with his finger, untying and retying his handkerchief after she had examined it. Barnes did not respond but instead continued to watch Steve with soft, sympathetic eyes. 

Frigga sighed. “You might as well knock off.” she told Steve and then hushed his cry of protest. “You can’t work with the food if you’re still bleeding and this looks like it needs a proper bandage. I can manage the prep myself as long as you're back tonight to help serve.”

“I’ve got bandages. I’ll get him sorted out.” Barnes supplied helpfully.

Frigga gave him a grateful smile and then hushed Steve again when he opened his mouth to argue. 

“Go, Steve.” she said though not unkindly and he dropped his head in supplication when he realised she would not be swayed. 

“C’mon punk.” Barnes said softly. 

He cupped Steve’s elbow in his palm when Steve could not bring himself to respond and lead him from the tent. 

*

Barnes’ carriage smelt like stale whiskey and it was only when the smell hit Steve’s nose that he remembered it had only been the day before that Barnes had curled himself around a bottle and fallen asleep with Delilah’s blood still on his hands. It seemed like an age ago to Steve. So much had happened since. 

Barnes rifled through a small drawer in the top of his bureau for a moment while Steve stood by the other man’s unmade bed and stared at the whiskey bottles upon it. It was only when Barnes made a soft, pleased noise at the discovery of the bandage he was searching for that Steve managed to tear his gaze away from the bed. 

He could remember the loose sprawl of Barnes’ long limbs across it like the image had been seared onto his brain. 

Barnes smiled a little ruefully. “I’d offer you a drink but I’m fresh out.” 

Steve shrugged. “I think last night proved I ain’t much for drinking.” 

Barnes continued to smile - a gentle, coaxing tilt of his lips - and he sat on the bed, smoothing out the messy bed covers for Steve. 

Steve swallowed and made no move towards the bed. Being in Barnes’ trailer made him nervous, especially now that the other man not only knew about his past but had not judged him for it. Steve had been so prepared to be turned away that he did not know how to respond to the kindness Barnes had shown him. He did not understand it. How could Barnes look at him, know that he knew, when not even his own parents could?

“C’mon, gimme a look at your thumb.” Barnes coaxed. “You know Frigga will be out for my blood if it ain’t wrapped by dinner.”  
Steve perched awkwardly beside Barnes on the bed and let the other man draw his injured hand close, biting his lip when the cut throbbed as Barnes undid the handkerchief covering it. 

“Huh.” Barnes said, inspecting the cut. “It seems to have stopped bleeding.” 

Steve forced a sound of acknowledgement past his lips and tried to ignore the coolness of Barnes’ fingertips against his hand. It was easier to dismiss the sensation when Barnes began to wrap the cut as the pain forced itself to the forefront of Steve’s mind, overtaking all other thoughts. 

He grit his teeth against the throbbing and winced. Barnes chuckled. 

“Must sting.” he observed as he neatly tucked the bandage back on itself and released Steve’s hand. 

Steve resisted the urge to shake the limb despite how it tingled where Barnes had touched. 

“It’s fine.” he said, unsurprised at how rough his voice still was. 

He inspected the bandaging job Barnes had done so that he did not have to meet the heavy gaze that he could feel on the side of his face.

“Steve.” Barnes said after a pause. “What you told me before -”

Steve froze, bracing himself for what he knew had been coming. 

“Just know - I won’t tell anyone.” Barnes finished. 

Steve’s head jerked up in shock, his eyes wide. “What?” he croaked. 

Barnes blinked at him, obviously taken back by his reaction. “I- I won’t tell anyone.” he repeated. 

Steve felt his brow furrow and he considered Barnes for a long, quiet moment. 

“Why?” he asked. 

Barnes frowned back at him. “It ain’t my business?” he suggested.

“Finding out your friend is an invert ain’t your business?” Steve asked, unable to keep the the disbelief from his voice. 

“Being forced to do something you don’t wanna do don’t make you an invert.” Barnes countered and Steve did not miss the sharpness  
of his tone. 

“Bull.” Steve muttered, dropping his gaze back to where his injured hand lay in his lap. 

He squeezed it into a fist, relishing the way the physical throb of it dulled the emotional hurt pounding in his chest. He had only known Barnes for a handful of weeks and yet the other man was willing to overlook the stain that had tarnished Steve so thoroughly that his own parents couldn’t see past it. He didn’t understand why but Barnes easy acceptance made his parents’ rejection all the more hurtful. 

“Is that why you ended up here?” Barnes asked quietly. “Did they send you away after what happened?”

Steve shook his head because they hadn’t. Not really. They’d just made staying seem worse than leaving. 

“I left.” he explained. “I couldn’t stand the way they - couldn’t stand the fact that my ma couldn’t even look me in the eye. That my father turned to the bottle. I had already caused them so much trouble on account of my asthma and…” Steve trailed off, unwilling to reveal the extent of his miladies. “I just - they’re better off without me.”

Barnes shook his head. “I don’t pretend to understand.” he said. “My own ma left me under a spec seat before I was old enough to sit up so I get that parents aren't always what you need them to be but Steve - they came looking for you.”

Steve winced as Barnes words dealt another emotional blow. “I know.” he said. “I know but to what end? If I’d gone back with them, nothing would have changed. It would have never gone back to the way it was. They’d still - treat me different..” 

When he looked up, Barnes was nodding. “Somethings shake people too deep.” he said with such finality that Steve knew he was speaking about his own experiences, knew he meant the way the other performers and show-folk tended to give him a wide berth, didn’t speak to him unless Barnes spoke to them first. 

It seemed incredibly cruel that Barnes, who was kind enough to overlook Steve’s past and give him the benefit of the doubt, had been condemn so harshly by others. Suddenly, Steve knew he had to reveal the fact that he knew Barnes’ own dark past and that he didn’t care - that it hadn’t changed the way he thought of his friend. 

“I know about Pierce.” Steve admitted softly and Barnes’ eyes widened in shock. 

“How?” the other man demanded, standing abruptly. 

Steve did not want to mention Sam’s name. “Doesn’t matter.” he said instead. “People talk, that’s all.” 

Barnes sighed, ran a hand through his hair and then cursed colourfully under his breath. 

“It’s okay.” Steve said and then, when Barnes did not appear to have heard him, repeated: “James, it’s okay.” 

Barnes let out a harsh laugh at that though there was little humour in the sound. “I killed someone.” he said quietly and his tone made Steve sit up a little straighter, a chill running down his spine. 

Barnes turned back to him. “I’m a murderer.” 

Steve swallowed hard and shook his head slowly. “Pierce was a bad man-” he tried to reason. 

“So was the boy who molested you.” Barnes shot back. “You can't make excuses for me and condemn yourself. It don't work like that.” 

Steve felt his temper flare. “Pierce killed people.” he said, tone sharp. 

Barnes let out another humourless laugh. “He did. And then I killed him so that makes me a bad man too.” 

Steve stood. “No, it doesn’t!” he shouted. 

“Then you’re not an invert!” Barnes shouted back, eyes wild. 

Steve was shocked into silence. 

“You can’t blame yourself, Steve. Not for that. You can’t call yourself a sinner and then overlook what I did.” Barnes continued, his voice returning to a normal volume but retaining the hard edge of anger. 

“It’s not the same!” Steve insisted.

“It’s exactly the same!” Barnes threw back. 

Steve shook his head but Barnes was nodding, contradicting him. 

“You think I killed Pierce because he was a bad man?” Barnes asked, voice cold. “You think I killed him because he was red-lighting people?” He took a step towards Steve and Steve flinched back instinctually. 

Barnes sneered. “You don’t know shit.” he spat. 

Steve watched with wide eyes as Barnes folded onto the bed, elbows to knees, his head hung low enough to hide his face. Despite the anger that radiated from him, Barnes looked so small and vulnerable that Steve found he could not take exception to his friend’s harsh words. Sam had told him how isolated Barnes had been since the incident with Pierce and Steve wondered if Barnes had ever spoken to anyone about what happened or if he’d been bottling it up for years. 

The thought of Barnes suffering in silence for so long made his chest ache. 

Steve edged towards the bed, sitting gingerly beside Barnes and - emboldened when Barnes did not react badly - reached out to lay his hand gently on Barnes shoulder. Barnes tensed but did not move away. 

“My adopted ma died when I was 13.” Barnes said after a moment. “Becky had already left the show by then to live with her father - so it was just me. The fellas watched out for me but I…”

Barnes lifted a hand and rubbed it over his face. Steve could not tell if he was crying. 

“Pierce brought the show out about six months after and he - at first he seemed alright. Real personable, ya know? Real smooth talker.” Barnes stopped to clear his throat. “He - ah - took a real shine to me.”

Steve’s stomach twisted unpleasantly and he hoped that he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. 

“He took me under his wing. Gave me special privileges. By the time he started to…” Barnes trailed off, giving a short humourless chuckle. The sound made Steve want to be sick. “Well, by then - I felt like I owed him. So I let him and it continued and soon he had me believin’ all sorts of things, had me doing all sorts of things.” 

Barnes made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and Steve realised that the hand he had laid on Barnes’ shoulder had fisted tight into the material of the other man’s shirt. He did not let go. 

“I slit his throat.” Barnes whispered and Steve flinched hard, fingers clenching hard in Barnes’ shirt as though the connection was his grounding in reality. 

“He wanted…and I refused and he hit me - it wasn’t the first time - and he threw me into his writing desk. I split my brow open and even though the blood was everywhere, he just kept coming. I grabbed the closest thing - this letter opener which he kept stupidly sharp - and I just…” Barnes breathed out, slow and hard. “Slit his throat.” 

When he finally looked up at Steve, his face was almost completely void of colour, though his eyes were red and glassy with unshed tears. He did not look a thing like the cool, slightly aloof man who had introduced Steve to Fury mere weeks ago. That man had been a stranger. The man sitting before Steve now was his friend and he looked as scared and frightened as Steve imagined he had been at fifteen, alone and covered in Pierce’s blood. 

Steve raised his other hand up to Barnes’ other shoulder and hauled him in, pulling until Barnes’ tormented face was hidden in the curve of Steve’s shoulder and throat and Steve was able to wrap his arms around the other man’s broad shoulders. 

Barnes went willingly, one hand clutching at the front of Steve’s shirt. He did not cry but for a long time, he let Steve hold him while he breathed unsteadily into the hard jut of Steve’s collarbone. Steve soothed a hand over Barnes’ back and stared across the carriage at the photograph of Barnes’ hiding behind his mother’s skirts. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” he whispered, to both himself and Barnes. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and con-crit are more than welcome. 
> 
> Thanks!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You got me too.” Barnes had said and Steve gave a watery laugh, his chest full to aching with an emotion that defied description. 
> 
> “Oh yeah? For how long, you jerk?” he challenged. 
> 
> Barnes grinned. “Until this train runs outta track, punk.” he said, as honest as Steve had ever heard him. “I’m with ya ’til the end of the line.”

Twenty-four hours later, Steve sat in the dimly lit train carriage and mused over how immensely things could change and shift in such a short period of time. Barnes losing Delilah and confronting Steve about his past, and the revelation of Barnes’ own past had all happened so quickly and yet they were events that had undeniably caused a shift in Steve and Barnes’ friendship. 

Steve glanced over at the other man. Barnes sat on his bed, darning a pair of his socks, a torn shirt stretch across his lap and next in line for some attention. Barnes, unaware that he was being watched, looked well at ease - pulling pained exaggerated faces when he pricked his thumb or when the thread did not cooperate - and it was hard for Steve to reconcile the picture he made with the man Steve had held in almost the exact spot less than a day before. 

*  
After what had seemed like an age, Barnes had pulled away, scrubbing at his pink face with the back of his sleeve and gracing Steve with a small, shaky smile. 

He had not wanted dinner and despite all of Steve’s cajoling - Barnes had refused to accompany Steve back to the Mess for the evening meal. Frigga had frowned when Steve had begun to put a plate together to take back to Barnes but had only warned him not to make a habit of it. She had watched him all night after he had returned from Barnes carriage, slightly dishevelled and teary-eyed, and though she said nothing, her gaze asked many questions of Steve that he was certain he could not answer. 

Steve had returned to Barnes’ trailer to find Barnes dozing. He didn’t blame him. After the string of emotionally fuelled days, Steve himself felt wrung out and stretched thin, tired in a bone deep way that only emotional exhaustion could bring about. He had meant to leave Barnes’ dinner for him and high tail it back to his own carriage to sleep but as he had bent down to place the plate on Barnes’ bedside table, Barnes had looped a gentle hand around his wrist. 

“Fury stopped by.” he told Steve and Steve frowned as he tried to remember seeing Fury at the evening meal. However, It was difficult to think clearly of anything much when Barnes smiled up at him from where he was curled up a top the mussed bedcovers and Steve could not bring a single cohesive thought to his mind. 

“I showed him your sketch.” Barnes said then and his hand went tight around Steve’s wrist as though he knew Steve was going to try to run. 

Steve had jerked back, affronted.

“Barnes!” he cried and Barnes had scoffed. 

“All this and you still call me by my last name like I’m some kinda acquaintance.” he muttered and Steve narrowed his eyes, temper flaring mean and hot. 

“You had no right!” 

He attempted to pull his arm back but Barnes did not let go. 

Barnes rolled his eyes. “Don’t blow your top. Ain’t like I did it for no reason.” 

Steve had tugged his arm back again and Barnes let go, using the momentum to swing up and unfold his legs over the side of the bed. Steve rubbed at his wrist, scowling. 

“I don’t care why you did it. You shouldn’ta done it at all.” 

Barnes rubbed a hand over his face as an exasperated noise echoed from his throat. 

“Wouldja just listen, you ninny?” he asked and then before Steve could speak again, said: “Fury liked what he saw, okay? Wants to see more, in fact.” 

Steve straightened, eyes flying wide in surprise, anger cooling as quickly as it had sparked. 

“What?” 

Barnes had grinned smugly. “Seems to think you might be able to turn a bit of coin with the rubes if you were willing.” 

Steve frowned. “What?”

Barnes laughed. “Sit down before you fall down.” he had advised and when Steve did not move, the taller man had stood and guided Steve to one of the armchairs in the corner of the carriage. 

Steve had sat heavily when his the back of his knees hit the chair, his mind still caught on processing what Barnes had told him.  
Fury thought his work was good enough to sell. 

“But -” he started. 

“No buts.” Barnes countered. “Fury wants you to do some more sketches, if you haven’t already got some done…”

Steve shook his head. His sketchbook had been too awkward to carry so all of his sketches had been left behind. 

“…and put together a folio of sorts.” Barnes continued. “He’ll have a look through it and if it’s a go - he’ll most likely set you up in a tent so you can draw for the rubes before the spec.” 

Steve frowned. “But Frigga needs my help in the kitchen.”

Barnes shrugged. “You can do both. Earn some extra coin on the side. Fury won’t charge you much to rent a tent, not at first anyway.”

Steve nodded absently, mind still reeling. His art had always been just a way of passing the time - something that he could use to occupy himself when he was too weak or ill to get out of bed. There had been a few pieces that he had been confident enough to show his parents but most of his work had never been seen by anyone other than himself. He wondered if his parents would look through his sketchbook now that he was gone. 

“I don’t know.” he said softly, studying the callus on his right, middle finger - a product of a pencil resting against it.

Barnes eased down onto his haunches in front of Steve, making it impossible for him not to meet his eye. 

“You’d be a fool not to.” he told Steve, his tone serious. 

Steve huffed, his unease curling into a tight ball of agitation that sat high in his chest. 

“I haven’t got any supplies.” he argued. “Two measly pencils and no paper. How am I supposed to sell pictures if I have nothing to make them with?” 

Barnes rolled his eyes and waved the picture of himself in front of Steve’s face. “Don’t seem like you need much to create something worth a second glance. You get those pencils, I’ll scrounge up some more flyers and you’re in business. All you need are enough sketches to show Fury. I don’t doubt he’ll set you up once we hit Boston.” 

Steve had winced, the reminder of the shows imminent departure from New York hitting him deep in his gut. 

Barnes seemed to realise his faux pas and reached out to rest his hand on Steve’s knee. The warmth of Barnes wide palm soaking into the material of his pants did little to ease Steve’s agitation. 

“You maybe fighting against this drawing business ‘cause you’re having second thoughts about coming with us to Boston?” Barnes asked softly. 

Steve bit his lip, not trusting his voice to answer. The thought of leaving made the nightmare of his parents’ disapproval crystallise and seem all too real. Barnes shook his knee a little, drawing Steve back from the images of his parent’s disappointed faces. 

“Hey.” he said and Steve sniffed, blinking rapidly when his eyes began too burn before giving up and closing them, trying to trap the tears inside. “I don’t pretend to know how scary this must be. I ain’t ever had a home to leave ‘sides this train. But -” he paused. “You got a  
family here to, ya know?” 

Steve gnawed on his bottom lip. In his mind his parents faces were replaced with Sam’s, Frigga’s and Barnes’. He saw Peggy and Darcy laughing as they clambered onto the Mess tables and performed high-kicks in their trousers and too big shirts. Frigga’s warm smile. Dum Dum and the other men who had welcomed him in despite his inability to really be ‘one of the lads’. 

He breathed out some of the tension, opened his eyes, and saw Barnes. 

Barnes with his gorgeous, tousled hair and his bright, defiant eyes. His infuriating smirk. His sharp tongue. 

Barnes who, over the past few weeks, had never been far from his side. Who told the most amazing stories about his time with the show. 

Who didn’t like the truth to get in the way of a good tale. 

Who drank too much and didn’t cry when he should. 

Who hadn’t judged Steve when his own parents had. 

Barnes who seemed to be the friend Steve had been waiting for his whole life. 

“You got me too.” Barnes had said and Steve gave a watery laugh, his chest full to aching with an emotion that defied description. 

“Oh yeah? For how long, you jerk?” he challenged. 

Barnes grinned. “Until this train runs outta track, punk.” he said, as honest as Steve had ever heard him. “I’m with ya ’til the end of the line.” 

*

After that, Barnes had sent Steve to retrieve his pencils, promising that he would have scrounged up some extra flyers by the time Steve returned. 

“You can travel with me.” Barnes had declared. “I’ve got enough oil to run the lamps all day and night for about a week - you can draw for as long as you like!” 

Steve had nodded even as his heart thudded hard and off kilter in his chest and his eyes swept to the solitary bed across the carriage. 

Steve huffed as even the memory of Barnes’ smile when he had agreed to travel with him to Boston made his pulse kick up a notch and the back of his knees feel warm. He frowned and tried to will the feeling - which he recognised but refused to name - away. 

He was lost so deep in thought that he did not see Darcy until he had all but run into her as she lowered herself down from his and Sam’s carriage. 

“Oh! Hi Steve!” she greeted him, her high cheek bones tinged pink. 

“Hi Darcy.” he said as he took in the rest of her appearance. 

Her hair was slipping out of the bun that it was pulled back into and her shirt was creased. The trousers she wore were obviously too big for her, cinched at the waist with a tatty black leather belt and rolled at the cuff a number of times over. Furthermore, Steve realised with a jolt as he recognised the wonky patch job on the left knee - they were Sam’s. 

He felt his face go hot. “Oh. Um. Hi.” he said inanely as the facts lined up in his head. 

Darcy huffed out an awkward laugh and hitched at the belt higher about her waist. “Hi.” she said and then giggled, her pretty face breaking into a wide grin. 

Steve could not help but grin in return. 

“Sam about?” he asked as innocently as he could. 

Darcy laughed harder and reached out to thump him lightly on the arm. 

“Ain’t no worse than what you’ve been up to, I’m sure.” she shot back and then danced past him before he had even had time to process  
what she’d meant let alone reply. 

He frowned after her despite the smile that still tugged at his lips, watching as she sketched her arms into the air as she walked, steps light and quick. 

What had she thought he’d been up to? Who did she think he’d been with? He shook his head and turned back to the carriage, unwilling to think on it too hard. 

“Sam?” he called out. “You decent?” 

A laugh echoed from within. “Ain’t nothin’ decent about what I’ve been doin’.” 

Steve laughed and hauled himself up into the carriage. Blessedly, Sam was fully dressed and sitting at the foot of his bed, a large smug grin stretched across his face. 

Steve just shook his head. “I don’t even wanna know.” he said. 

Sam laughed. “You’re too young to hear the details anyway.” he teased. 

Steve had scowled playfully and went to his own cot, rummaging under his pillow until he found the two pencils. Holding them up for inspection, he frowned when he found the the tip on one to be blunted. 

“Whatcha got there?” Sam asked. 

Steve jumped a little and turned back to his friend, resisting the urge to hide the pencils behind his back. 

“Just some pencils.” he replied, as casually as he could. “Barnes wants them for something.” 

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Oh, does he now?” he asked and the inflection of his tone made Steve’s cheeks heat. “Well, you better hurry back. We’re due to leave soon.” 

The heat across Steve’s cheeks flared. “Ah, actually.” he began, averting his eyes when Sam met his gaze. “I’m travelling with Barnes to Boston.” 

It was a long moment before Sam replied. 

“Huh.” he said eloquently. “Well.”

“Yeah.” Steve interjected awkwardly. “I mean, he offered and…” 

“No. Of course.” Sam cut in as he trailed off. 

There had been a number of times when something in Sam’s tone suggested the sort of implication Steve most feared - that he hadn’t been careful enough, that he’d let the damnable feelings he had for Barnes shine through in the way he looked at the other man, spoke about him, spoke to him. He feared that maybe Sam knew, or thought he knew, and would eventually come to resent Steve for it.

And when he had looked up, risking a glance at Sam, he worried that he would find the evidence that supported his fears painted into the expression of Sam’s face, be it a frown or a sneer or just the smallest hint of judgement in his eye.  
Instead, his friend was smiling. 

“Give my best to Barnes.” Sam said. “I’ve hardly seen him since you dragged him out of the menagerie after - and well, what went down  
can’t have been easy for him.” 

Steve nodded slowly, still a little thrown. 

“He’s lucky to have you.” Sam said and Steve bristled a little, hearing that implication once more. 

“He’s a good friend.” he countered. 

Sam nodded, his smile widening into a grin. “Right.” he said. “And you’re a good friend. That’s why he’s lucky to have you.” 

Steve nodded again, staring hard at Sam and trying to read every nuance of the other man’s expression. He could not see any element of judgement in his friend’s face - only happiness and a hint of teasing mirth. He wondered if what he saw was acceptance - but that was ridiculous, how could it be? - or simply a product of easy ignorance. 

He swallowed and forced smile to his face despite his concerns. 

“I’m happy for you.” he said honestly. “You and Darcy, I mean.” 

Sam had laughed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Not half a happy as I am for me, I betcha.” he grinned. “That girl is gonna be the death of me.” 

Steve’s felt his smile morph into something more genuine. “Yeah, but what a way to go, huh?” he teased and then laughed as Sam spluttered. 

He made his escape as Sam continued splutter and chuckle in turn, pleased that he could route such a reaction from his friend. 

He was down and out of the carriage and headed back along the line of the train when he heard Sam shout his name. Frowning, he turned back to find Sam slung halfway out of the carriages open door. 

“What?” he had called back. 

“I’m happy for you too.” Sam shouted and Steve shook his head, not understanding. 

“For you and Barnes, I mean.” Sam finished and then swung back into the carriage while Steve spluttered and whipped his head from side to side to make sure there was no-one around to hear. 

*

Despite himself, Steve had been grinning when he had arrived back at Barnes’ carriages. He did not fully understand Sam’s teasing - had the other man come to the correct conclusion about Steve’s feelings for Barnes? Or was he just happy that Steve and Barnes had found each other? - but he had come to the conclusion that, at that particular moment in time, it did not matter. 

“What’s got you grinnin’?” Barnes asked by way of hello. 

He was sprawled across on of his arm chairs, a slightly ragged looking comic laid across his lap. Steve shrugged and pulled the carriage door closed behind himself. 

“Got your stuff?” Barnes asked, nodding when Steve held up the pencils as proof that he had.

Barnes stood then and went to the small chest of drawers the stood across from his bed. Steve watched as Barnes opened the top left drawer and pawed through the items of clothing stored there. Barnes had let out a soft triumphant noise when he found what he was looking for. Steve stretched his neck to see what it was that Barnes had been looking for, heart beat tripping when he saw what Barnes extracted from the drawer. 

“I didn’t think you’d mind.” Barnes said, turning the sketch book over in his hands. “Loki had an extra one and let me buy it from him.”  
Steve opened his mouth but found that he could not find any words. The sketchbook was smaller than the one he had left behind but was beautifully bound with a soft leather covering. When Barnes unwound the leather cord from around it and parted its spine, Steve could see that the pages were thick, robust paper and easily a high quality than anything he had ever drawn on.

“I can’t accept that.” he managed finally but his traitorous hands were already reaching for it, desperate to feel the grain of the paper and the heft of the book’s weight. 

Barnes handed it over easily. “Seems like you already have.” he commented when Steve drew his fingertips lightly over the opened page.  
Steve threw him a weak glare before taking a deep, steadying breath and closing the sketchbook and trying to hand it back. 

“It’s too much.” he insisted. “I can’t.” 

Barnes refused the book by crossing his arms and jamming his own hands under his armpits. 

“It is not and you damn right will.” he countered. “It’s supposed to be a gift, you eejit. But if it’s gonna ruffle your feathers too much, you  
can pay me back once you start turning coin with your drawings.”

Steve shook his head. “We don’t even know if Fury is gonna like my drawings.” he protested.

Barnes scoffed. “Anyone with eyes is gonna like your drawings, Stevie.” 

The nickname did not escape Steve’s attention but he refused to be derailed. He stepped closer to Barnes and pressed the sketchbook against the other man’s chest, trying to tuck the edge of the sketchbook under Barnes’ folded arms. He huffed when Barnes refused to take it back. 

“I can’t.” he insisted but Barnes only shook his head. 

“Yes, you can. You’ll take it and you’ll be grateful ‘cause it’s my understanding that that’s what you do when your friend gives you a gift.”  
Steve let an small noise of aggravation slip from his lips and gave up, folding the sketchbook into his own chest and holding it tightly.  
Barnes smirked. “Good. That’s better. Now say ‘thank-you’.” 

Steve rolled his eyes but could not help but grin as he thanked the other man. 

“My pleasure.” Barnes replied, eyes twinkling. “Now sit down and draw.” 

Steve forced a scowl onto his face but did as he was told.

*

Barnes stayed with him for the rest of the evening, puttering around his carriage as Steve sketched and sketched. He had not realised how much he missed drawing until he had begun and soon, once he had corrected small errors in judgement and spacing - his work flowed from his hand onto the page as though he had never stopped. 

Additionally, where he - upon occasion - had once suffered to find inspiration now, his mind was now filled to bursting with new faces and sights to depict and capture. He drew Darcy and Pepper and Peggy, modestly dressed but they teasing eyes and lilting smiles. He drew Sam, chest bare and gleaming after a hard day work, and Frigga, a look of satisfaction on her face when she tasted and found her stew to be perfectly seasoned. 

He drew the tents of the lot, the crowed tables of the Mess, the spec. He drew Fury in his fine red coat and Dum Dum in his bowler. He drew Natasha, the redhead, and Clint, the man she trusted to throw knives at her. 

He drew the elephants that had so fascinated him when he first arrived and the acrobats and a clown juggling. 

He drew Khan. 

He drew Delilah. Alive and roaring. 

And he drew Barnes. 

The other man’s eyes emerged in the corner of the page that held Peggy’s figure. His smile graced the margin of the page that Frigga appeared. The folded hands that Steve had begun between drawing the lot and the Mess had morphed into Barnes’ and the figure smoking against on the carriages in another drawing undoubtedly possessed Barnes’ physique and jawline. 

In fact, every time Steve did not focus his mind solely on his intended subject, Barnes emerged on the page in front of him, causing Steve’s cheeks to heat and his eyes to jump up from the page and find Barnes - wherever he was in the carriage - to make sure the other man had not noticed. 

But Barnes paid him no mind, passing the time by tidying or reading, giving Steve the peace and quiet he liked when he drew seemingly on instinct. They did not talk for what Steve knew must have been hours but he felt warmed and steadied by Barnes constant presence. 

He swallowed hard when his thoughts finally caught up with him and then jumped badly when the carriage jerked beneath him. His eyes flew to find Barnes’ across the carriage. Barnes put down the sock he was darning and shifted the waiting pile of clothes to the side.

“Wha-?” Steve begun. 

“We’re leaving.” The other man explained. “The show is about to roll out.” 

All of the warm contentment in Steve’s chest shattered and fell into the pit of his stomach, jagged and instantly aching. 

“But-!”

Barnes stood and approached the door of the carriage, pulling it open to the fresh night air. Steve watched, frozen in his armchair, his sketchbook covering his lap. Barnes leaned out of the doorway and waved his arm when a shout carried down from further up the train. 

He closed the door then and turned back to Steve. 

“Do you still want to travel with me?” he asked and Steve nodded, the reality of the situation dawning over him. 

He was leaving. 

Truly and actually leaving. 

He had three shirts, two pairs of slacks, one pair of boots and a handful of coins to his name and he was leaving. 

Leaving his mother and his father and his home behind without any idea of when or if he would return. 

Suddenly, with startling clarity, his mother’s face came to mind. He wondered if she was worried about him, if she cried as Steve did when he woke late at night and realised the other’s absence in his life. He swallowed hard. 

“Steve.” Barnes’ voice brought him back to the present. 

Steve looked to the other man, who was now perched on the edge of his bed. 

“Come and sit with me a while.” Barnes continued and when Steve made no motion to move, he tilted his chin in a come-hither motion that fish-hooked through the ache in the bottom of Steve’s gut. 

Steve stood on shaky legs and, leaving his sketchbook behind on the armchair, crossed to where Barnes sat. When he lowered himself to sit beside the other man, the heavy weight of Barnes’ arm settled over his shoulders, the other man’s hand grasping his upper arm tightly. 

Steve blew out a long breath, relaxing a little into his friend’s firm hold and shut his eyes. 

The wheels of the carriage groaned against the rails beneath them and Steve’s stomach lurched. 

Barnes held him tighter. 

“You’re gonna be okay.” Barnes murmured in a voice so soft that Steve almost missed it. 

He turned his face into Barnes’ shoulder in case the other man spoke again. 

He did not. 

Instead, he sat in heavy silence and held Steve as the train began to pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a long time coming and for that, I apologise. This is actually the third rewrite of this chapter and the only one I was even the slightest bit happy with but I hope it is worth the wait. 
> 
> In case it was not clear, the chapter begins just before the show leaves for Boston and then Steve reflects on the day that had passed before the narrative joins back up with the present. 
> 
> The romantic element of Steve and Bucky's relationship begins to develop from here on out which I'm sure most of you will be glad for. I have added a "slow burn" tag to the work for future reference. Haha.
> 
> Con-crit and comments are more than welcome and as always, I'd love it if you felt inclined to come hangout with me on [Tumblr.](http://fat-hippie.tumblr.com/)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other man shifted, disturbed by the movement of the mattress, and rolled to his side but did not wake. The arm thrown across Barnes’ face stretched out across the mattress and into Steve’s personal space, almost as though Barnes were reaching out for him. Steve inched his own hand along the folds of the sheet beneath them until it rested a mere inch from Barnes’. 
> 
> A long while later, Steve fell asleep watching the gap between their fingertips and thinking about what it would be like to close it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I apologise for how long this chapter has taken. I have no excuses. I love you. Thank-you for putting up with me.

It was an entire day’s travel to Boston. 

Steve slept the first night tucked up against the edge of Barnes’ bed, clinging to the edge of the mattress, terrified that slumber might loosen his resolve and he would wake curled into the beguiling warmth of Barnes’ body. 

When he woke, early judging by the hands of Barnes’ alarm clock and stiff as a board thanks to the awkward position he had slept in, he turned to find Barnes flat on his back, sprawled across two thirds of the mattress, legs akimbo and hands clasped loosely above his own head. 

As he watched the easy rise and fall of Barnes’ chest, Steve was once again struck by how young Barnes looked when he slept and the realisation of how much weight that meant his friend carried with him each day. He wanted to reach out and brush the dark strands of hair from Barnes’ brow, wanted to press the tip of his forefinger to Barnes’ bottom lip to test if it was as soft as it looked, he wanted to draw Barnes’ - again - just as he was in those few, private moments. 

But he did not, he could not, and all too soon, Barnes’ eyes flitted open - another sight in itself - and Steve hastily shut his own to feign sleep as the other man stretched, groaned and yawned beside him. 

There was a beat of silence then and despite the erratic beating of Steve’s heart, he tried to keep his breathing even, unsure whether Barnes knew he was awake - or that he had been watching him sleep. 

“Steve?” the other man whispered and Steve’s heart skipped. 

There was another pause during which Steve knew that Barnes was waiting to see if he would rouse. When he did not, the bed dipped and a moment later he heard Barnes’ bare feet touch the ground and pad to the water closet. 

The sounds of Barnes relieving himself made Steve blush and he turned his face to hide into the pillow beneath his face to hide the flush he could feel on his cheeks. 

“Steve?” Barnes asked again, voice still a little more than a whisper, when he emerged. 

Steve didn’t move. 

“Faker.” Barnes said. “No-one is that still when they sleep. You don’t even look like you're breathing.” 

Steve let out a rush of air that he didn’t realise he’d been holding and then lifted his face to turn back to Barnes, cheeks still pink, expression sheepish. 

“Mornin’” Barnes grinned and Steve dipped his head in response, not trusting his voice. 

Barnes looked deliciously rumpled, shirt open and loose over his under clothes, his hair mused from its usual slicked back style as though he had run his fingers through it when he’d woken up. In the dim golden light seeping into the carriage, Barnes’ smile looked intimate, like a secret that perhaps  
none else had seen before. The thought made Steve want to tuck his face back into the pillows. 

“Morning.” he mumbled back. 

“We won’t hit Boston until late tonight.” Barnes explained. “So today’s our own.” 

To Steve’s delight, that meant spending the day as the previous had been spent - he sketching, while Barnes puttered around, darning clothes and reading. The time passed in companionable silence, inter spliced with brief, intimate spurts of conversation. Steve found that Barnes seemed miraculously in tune to his mood and whenever his thoughts turned towards home and the growing distance between he and his parents, Barnes would ask him about his current sketch or throw a just-darned item of clothing at him and ask if anything of his needed mending. 

At midday, Barnes hopped across to the carriage preceding them and retrieved lunch for them which they ate sitting cross legged in the middle of Barnes bed. 

“You get crumbs in my sheets and I’ll knock you flat.” Barnes warned as Steve dusted said crumbs from his shirt front. 

Steve smirked, set at ease by the slow morning and the lazy grin spread across Barnes’ face. “Jeez, calm down.” he scolded, sweeping the crumbs off the side of the mattress. “This is my side of the bed anyway.” 

Barnes raised an eyebrow at that but only laughed when Steve’s cheeks went pink. 

Cheeks hot, Steve retaliated by throwing his crust at the other man, snorting when it bounced off Barnes’ forehead. 

*

Unfortunately, the good mood did not last and while Barnes actions and attitude towards Steve’s company did not change, as the train drew nearer and nearer to its final destination, Steve watched Barnes draw further and further into himself. 

He understood, chewing his lip and watching Barnes’ shadow as the other man hid away in the privy to puff at the gnarled end of a shabby looking cigar. The other man refused to smoke in the same room as Steve and his shoddy lungs and while Steve was grateful for the gesture, its necessity grated on his nerves. 

Boston would be the first show to be advertised without Delilah and Dante. There had already been some backlash, Barnes had admitted, when the last two shows in New York had been completed without the two lions. Some rubes had demanded their money back. Fury hadn’t been happy.  
Steve could tell Barnes was preparing himself for flack he was sure to cop if the ticket sales in Boston didn’t live up to expectations. Barnes’ shadow moved and Steve heard the latch of the small window - which Barnes’ had been blowing the smoke out of - close. He quickly dropped his eyes back to his sketch pad. 

Barnes was shirtless when he emerged back into the main cabin and he only glanced briefly at Steve before rolling onto his side of the bed and slinging his right arm over his eyes.

“You gonna be much longer?” he asked quietly. 

“No.” 

Barnes hummed. “We’ll be getting in at ass o’clock in the morning so it’s probably best to get an early night.”

Steve nodded. “Okay, I’ll just finish this sketch.” 

Barnes hummed again and made no other comment. 

Steve watched the other man’s bare chest rise and fall a handful of times before setting his pencil to his previously blank page and beginning to draw. 

*

An hour later, he sat with a sketch in front of him that he was sure he would have to destroy. Asleep and completely unaware of Steve’s inner turmoil, Barnes remained sprawled half-naked on the bed, his arm thrown across his eyes and his mouth open slightly, his plump lips caressing the soft puffs of breath that made his pectoral muscles shift every few seconds.

Steve’s drawing caught it all; the intimacy, the secrecy of the moment - everything. It looked - to Steve - like an artwork created by a lover and the thought made him feel sick to his stomach. It made the backs of his knees damp and his hands shake. He knew he should tear the page from his sketchpad and burn it but ultimately, he found he could not. 

Because while the sketch was a confession of the most heinous nature, it was possibly the most beautiful thing Steve had ever drawn and he knew, deep down, that it was because of the content, because of his sleeping muse and the damnable feelings that flared to life in his gut whenever Barnes looked his way. 

Swallowing hard, Steve closed his sketchbook and carried it with him to the bed. Unsure of what else to do, he slid the book beneath his pillow and then lay his head upon it as he stretched out beside Barnes. 

The other man shifted, disturbed by the movement of the mattress, and rolled to his side but did not wake. The arm thrown across Barnes’ face stretched out across the mattress and into Steve’s personal space, almost as though Barnes were reaching out for him. Steve inched his own hand along the folds of the sheet beneath them until it rested a mere inch from Barnes’. 

A long while later, Steve fell asleep watching the gap between their fingertips and thinking about what it would be like to close it. 

*

The show arrived in Boston at approximately 3am in the morning - a fact that Steve was made all to aware of when Barnes’ alarm clock blared to life only a handful of hours later. He groaned and rolled towards the noise, hoping to shut it off, only to find Barnes awake and sitting on the side of the bed, lacing his boots. 

“Rise and shine.” Barnes greeted him, smirking when Steve only groaned in response. He stood from the bed and threw Steve’s jacket to him, chuckling when Steve flailed beneath the piece of clothing. “I warned you to get an early night.”

Steve’s mind caught on that, suddenly very much awake and hyper aware of the sketchbook beneath his pillow and what it contained. He sat and thread his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, unable to keep his unease from making his movements slow and mechanical as he kept his eyes trained on the pillow where his head had lay. Barnes noticed. 

“You alright, punk?” 

Steve flinched and jerked his gaze away from the pillow - he couldn’t tell if his sketchbook was beneath it or not anyway. He nodded when he was meant with Barnes’ expectant expression. 

“I’m fine.” he said. 

Barnes raised an eye brow. “Uh-huh.” he said sceptically. 

His eyes moved between Steve and the pillow. 

“You know, Frigga will be expecting you in the Mess but if you need more sleep I can tell her you’re not feeling well or som’thin’…” Barnes trailed off as Steve begun to shake his head. 

“No, I’m fine.” he repeated and stood as if to prove it. “I’m just - still waking up.” 

Barnes regarded him for another long moment. 

“Well, alright then.” he said finally. “Get your shoes on, Rogers. I’m gonna want a hot breakfast after the next few hours.” 

*

Barnes walked Steve to the Mess which - despite the ungodly hour - was already standing, lanterns glowing warmly through the darkness. 

“The men would’ve set it up first thing.” Barnes explained and Steve made a mental note to give Sam, Dum Dum and the rest of the fellas a little extra porridge for their efforts. 

Frigga was waiting for him in the kitchen. As they entered the tent, she stood from where she had been crouched in front of the stove, stoking the fire, and Steve noted that while she looked a little tired, she still looked as regal and formidable as she always did. He was sure he looked like something that he’d once scrapped out the of the elephants’ train carriage. 

“Morning.” she greeted them and Steve did not miss the way her eyes flitted between their mutual states of untidiness. 

Barnes dipped his head to her and clapped Steve once across the shoulders before heading out. 

Steve watched him go and then flushed when he caught himself trying to calculate how many hours it would be until he saw the other man again. It was getting harder to push those sinful thoughts away and when he turned back to face Frigga’s smirk, dread settled low in his belly that perhaps he was doing a very poor job at hiding his feelings. 

Frigga said nothing of it though, instead ordering Steve to take over stoking the stove while she began to prepare the ingredients for breakfast. 

*

Steve saw Barnes again later when the other man blew through the Mess for breakfast. While Barnes sometimes lingered so that he could eat his meal with Steve, that morning he barely paused to inhale his porridge (an extra ladle and all) and coffee before he disappeared out into the lot once more. 

Steve tried not to mope and Dum Dum and the others did a good job at distracting him as the sat and ate and regaled him with how they had spent their days travel. 

“And then this one,” Gabe snorted, whacking his hand off the back of Dum Dum’s skull. “Goes to sit down, misses the damn crate and almost tips backwards out the damn carriage door.” 

The other men howled with laughter while Dum Dum has the good grace to look sheepish. 

“Lost by favourite bowler.” he muttered into the rim of his coffee mug which sent the men - and Steve - into another fit of hilarity. 

“Maybe you can win some green off Jackie.” Morita grinned. “Buy yourself another one.” 

Jackie laughed. “Not with thee vay ‘dis eejit plays cards.” He sat up a little straighter and then, in a terrible impression of Dum Dum’s loud baritone exclaimed: “Another shot hand. Can’t win, can’t I fellas?”

The sentiment was ruined by the exaggerated way the Frenchman grinned and rubbed his hands together fiendishly. The men all fell about laughing once more, even Dum Dum who tried to defend himself between loud guffaws that his poker face was ‘better than all that Jacques, you damn frog!’. 

*

Steve was still smiling come mid morning when Barnes slipped back into the kitchen, face shining with sweat, shirt dark with grime and smelling like a baboon’s armpit. 

Frigga took one look at him and shooed him away from the food preparation area. He grinned at her and hopped back into the tent’s doorway. 

“Got a minute?” he asked Steve. 

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Any spare minute you got would be best spent in a bath.” he replied. 

Barnes rolled his eyes. “Punk. I been workin’.” he shot back. 

Steve grinned. “I been working too, ya jerk. Making your meals.” 

Barnes was positively vibrating with energy which seemed so at odds with his work-wearied appearance that Steve’s curiosity was immediately piqued. 

“Yeah, and I’m sure you’ll make some fella a great little housewife someday Stevie but this is important.” 

Both Steve and Frigga made indignant noises of protest at that and Barnes held up his hands in surrender. 

“Please.” Barnes said then and Steve’s stomach backflipped. “It’s a surprise.” 

Steve looked to Frigga who feigned a put-upon sigh and pointed to the open tent flap where Barnes’ stood. 

“Go.” she told him. “But be back to help serve lunch.” 

Steve grinned and did as he was told. 

* 

Barnes lead him across the lot, hurrying him along whenever Steve got distracted by some sight or another. Many of the tents were up and the animals were being to be unloaded from their train carriages and prepared for the evening’s parade. Steve had just stopped to watch a man walk past with a monkey perched on each shoulder and one curled around the brim of his hat when Barnes let out an impatient sigh and grabbed his wrist, pulling him along. 

“Jeez, Rogers, a month on and you’re still as bad as any rube I ever seen.” he mumbled under his breath but Steve could only laugh and let himself be towed along while trying not to think of how Barnes’ fore and middle finger pressed against his wrist where his shirt cuff had rolled up. 

Barnes pulled up in front of a blue and yellow striped tent that had seen better days.

“What’s this?” Steve asked when Barnes turned to him expectantly. 

“This,” Barnes grinned. “Is yours.” 

Steve felt his eyes bug wide. “What?” 

Barnes was smiling so hard, Steve thought his face might split in two. “It’s yours. I squared it with Fury. No worries.”

“No worries.” Steve parroted back inanely. 

Barnes stepped forward and pulled open the tent flap and tied it back, revealing the interior. Steve stood, frozen and confused, until something caught his attention inside. He stumbled forward then too, pulled in by the sight of one of his sketches tacked to the back of the tent. 

“That’s mine -” he began, words choking to a halt when he turned and saw that the three interior walls of the tent were plastered with his sketches. 

All the sketches that he had done in the sketch book Barnes had given him. His heart jumped into his throat as the realisation of what Barnes had done - of what Barnes had seen - dawned on him. He rounded on Barnes, panicked, eye flitting about the walls for the sketch he should have destroyed. 

It was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the small sketches of Barnes’ hands, eyes, lips leapt out from the corners of the other pictures, drawn absentmindedly in margins but just a damning. But Barnes didn’t seem to notice and he grinned blithely back into the full force of Steve’s panic. 

“You don’t hafta keep ‘em all o’course.” he said. “I just - thought they were all great so I put them all up.”

No, you didn’t, Steve thought wildly. There’s one missing. There’s one - 

Barnes must have seen it, he concluded. Must have seen it and destroyed it and he was now giving Steve an out, not mentioning it. Obviously, the other man wanted to pretend the sketch didn’t exist - wanted to try and ignore that his new best friend was a pervert. Steve tried swallow around the sudden dryness in his throat, rampant gratitude and some other sinister emotion warring high in his chest. 

Barnes’ grin had begun to dim as he waited for Steve’s reaction. 

“It’s for you to draw in.” he explained unnecessarily. “When the rubes follow the parade back or when they’re waiting around for the show - you can  
charge ‘em for portraits or like - sketches of the spec, I dunno…” Barnes trailed off. 

Steve was still a mess of emotions; shock, gratitude, relief, and a hint of anger that Barnes had gone behind his back to set the whole thing up when he hadn’t ever agreed to it in the first place. He didn’t know if he could turn sketches fast enough to make any sort of profit - hell, he didn’t know if his sketches were good enough to sell in the first place. What if he drew someone poorly and insulted them?

Barnes was still watching him, grin gone but eyes hopeful.

“I can’t believe you did all this.” Steve blurted, wincing when he realised how accusatory it sounded. “Where did you even find this thing?” 

The tent was definitely a little worse for wear. It smelt old and damp and there were several patches of sunlight showing through patches and tears  
around its walls. It was propped up by a number of mismatched poles, one of which was a little shorter than the others, meaning one corner of the tent  
dipped slightly. 

Despite it wall, the tent seemed sturdy and did a fair enough job at keeping the wind out. Steve could see himself set up with an easel and charcoal and a model sat in front of him. 

“I had to haul through one of the storage cars.” Barnes admitted. “I know it’s a little shabby. But it’ll do for now and Fury won’t be able to charge you any real sorta rent so whatever profit you make will be your own.”

It was beginning to dawn on Steve just how thoroughly Barnes had thought it all through. He turned back to the other man. 

“Thank you.” he said, trying to muster as much sincerity as he could.

It seemed to be enough as Barnes grinned, quick and warm before coughing awkwardly and turning away, apparently to examine a sketch of the big top that hung near by. 

“It ain’t nothin’.” he shrugged. 

“No, it’s something. Hell, it may well be the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.” Steve admitted, face growing warm. 

Barnes threw him a quick glance and Steve noted the pleased, slightly embarrassed quirk of Barnes’ lips. The other man cleared his throat again. 

“Yeah well, I had to pay you back, didn’t I?” he prompted. “I mean, the way you stepped up after - after - hell, you got me my meals and everything…” he trailed off. 

Steve shrugged and looked down at his feet. “I was just doin’ what any decent friend would do.” he tried to reason. 

Barnes nodded. “I know.” he admitted. “But I don’t got too many of those.” 

Steve pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and gnawed on it, flushing when he risked a glance at Barnes only to find the other man watching him. 

“Me either.” he said. 

Barnes snorted. “Guess we’re lucky we got each other around then.” 

Steve felt his face split with a grin. “You are definitely lucky to have me around, Barnes.” he teased. “What with you smelling the way you do.” 

Barnes’ eyebrows shot up, his mouth opening in surprise, and the expression was so comical that Steve could not help but laugh. 

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” Barnes said after he had managed to school his expression. 

Steve continued to do just that, unaware of the mischievous glint that had flared to life in Barnes eyes. 

“At least I don’t call a fella by his last name after I’ve spent the night in his bed.” he said just as Steve was starting to get himself under control. 

The surprised noise that choked out of Steve’s throat was mortifying and then it was Barnes’ turn to laugh as Steve spluttered and turned a furious beet red. 

“Well.” Steve managed finally. “Well, what am I supposed to call you then?” 

Barnes shrugged, still grinning. “I dunno. Just seems a little formal that my best pal calls me by my surname is all.” 

Steve paused and looked to his feet once more, tucking his chin to his neck in an effort to hide the goofy smile that spread across his face at being labelled Barnes’ ‘best pal’. 

“You said you didn’t go by ‘James’ though.” he reminded the other man. “So that’s out.” 

Barnes nodded. “I don’t care much for ‘Jimmy’ now that I’m grown either.” 

Steve huffed, meeting Barnes gaze once more. “What’d you say your middle name was?” 

“You ain’t calling me ‘Buchanan’, punk.” Barnes answered. “No way, no how.” 

“I’ll just call you ‘jerk’ if you keep up with that ‘punk’ shit.” Steve shot back and smiled when Barnes’ eyebrows rose, as though he was impressed that Steve had sworn. 

“Buchanan.” Steve said again and Barnes narrowed his eyes suspiciously. 

“What’s your middle name then?” he asked. 

“Ain’t tellin’.” Steve shot back. “Buchanan.” 

“You punk.” Barnes snarled and Steve laughed. 

“Okay.” he relented. “No more teasing my old pal Buchanan, I promise.” 

Barnes made a menacing noise in the back of his throat and Steve held up his hands, trying and failing to keep his laughter at bay. 

“My old pal Bucky?” Steve tried. 

Barnes snorted. 

“Bucky?” he questioned and Steve nodded. 

Barnes paused for a moment, apparently thinking it over.

Then he shrugged. 

“It’s better’an ‘Buchanan’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may also note that the story now has a definite number of chapters. I have gone through and re-planned each remaining chapter in detail in the hope that it will keep me motivated and on task to finish this story in a somewhat timely fashion. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter/ the story in general by leaving some feedback here or popping over to my [Tumblr](http://fat-hippie.tumblr.com/) to say 'hi!'. 
> 
> :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time he had seen Barnes sitting at a dressing table while Natasha blotted pressed powder to his skin, Steve had nearly laughed himself sick. 
> 
> “Quit your hooting.” Barnes scolded. “It’s for the show.” 
> 
> “Yeah but make up, Buck?” Steve chortled.
> 
> He did not miss the way Natasha’s eyebrows rose when she heard the nick name.
> 
> Barnes rolled his eyes. “Natasha says it’ll stop my face getting washed out by the lights.”
> 
> “Is that right?” Steve asked, pulling himself up to sit on the table which Barnes sat in front of, careful not to bump the mirror or any of the cosmetics strewn across the counter top. “You gonna put on some lipstick too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter does contain material of an explicit nature.

When the parade returned from town that evening, bringing with it throngs of rubes and billowing clouds of dust that irritated Steve’s lungs, it found Steve propped up in front of his tent with his sketchbook in his lap and an empty chair in front of him. 

He had picked three of his sketches - a bust portrait of Peggy, a full figure sketch of Barnes leaning against a train carriage and a full detailed sketch of Khan - and pinned them up on the front of the tent with an monetary amount under each. While Steve didn’t consider them his best work, he felt the sketches did portray his range and would - he hoped - give customers an idea of what they could ask for if they wanted a sketch done. 

He was hesitant to let people into the tent to browse through his completed sketches for a couple of reasons; one, because he felt ridiculous charging people for work he considered mediocre at best and two, because he was worried the sketches might get damaged or ruined by curious hands and dirty fingers. He had laced the tent flap closed, a clear discouragement to any curious gilly and their prying eyes. 

Steve sighed as he watched people begin to peel away from the procession and disperse through the lot. He didn’t know if he was ready for this and apprehension sat low and hard in his gut. 

A flash of red caught his eye and he turned to see Barnes jogging down the makeshift alley between the rows of tents, still in his show gear and windswept from the parade. 

“What are you doing here?” Steve blurted. 

He hadn’t expected to see Barnes at all, knowing that the other man would have to untack and water the horses and possibly move the cats out of their road carriage after the parade. 

Barnes pulled a face. “Where else would I be?” he asked. “It’s your opening night.” 

“But - you - the cats - the horses -“ Steve spluttered, his hands tightening around the sketchbook in his lap. 

The only thought that had calmed Steve’s nerves had been that even if things did not go well - if his sketches weren’t popular - that at least everyone (Barnes, Sam, Peggy…) would be busy with their own work and preparations. If things didn’t work out, he could simply beg off that the gig just wasn’t for him and sneak back to hide in the kitchen. 

It would hurt, Steve knew, to fail at this - especially when Barnes’ scheme gave him another way to earn his keep by doing something he loved - but at least no one would be there to actually witness his ineptitude. 

Except - apparently - Barnes. 

Steve tried to swallow away the sensation of his pulse fluttering wildly in his throat.

Luckily, Barnes was too busy inspecting the sketches pinned to the front of the tent to notice Steve’s inner turmoil. 

“Hey!” he exclaimed when he recognised himself leaning against the carriage in the middle sketch. “Who’s this dashing fella?” 

He threw a wide grin over his shoulder to Steve, who managed to return it weakly. 

Barnes straightened then and Steve watched as the other man’s head tipped to the side, a soft crease forming between his eyebrows. 

“Why’s the tent laced?” he asked. 

Steve opened his mouth only to shut it when all that came out was a stuttered: “Uh.” 

Barnes turned to face him fully and Steve shrugged, giving up when his mind couldn’t rally around a decent excuse. 

“They ain’t good enough.” he muttered mutinously. 

Barnes barked out a sharp incredulous noise that was almost a laugh. 

“You gotta be kiddin’ me.” he muttered. “Marbles for eyes, rocks for brains, I tell ya.” 

He stalked over to the mouth of the tent where he knelt and began to pull at the bottom knot of the tent lacing. 

“You practically draw your hand raw and now you ain’t got the johnnies to show ‘em off. I crawled through that damn storage carriage for a reason, Rogers.” 

Steve sat, torn between the pride swelling in his chest that Barnes thought his sketches were good enough, the anxiety clutching at his throat that they really weren't and the nagging anger bubbling in his gut that always seemed to spark when Barnes told him what to do. 

“Barnes -” he began and then stopped and corrected himself; “Bucky, I’m serious. What if someone takes one without payin’? I can’t be out here drawin’ and in there keeping an eye on things.” 

Barnes grinned then and Steve knew it was because he’d used the other man’s newly forged nick name. The irritation in his stomach cooled and he found that he had to fight the urge to return Barnes’ smile. 

“I’ll stick around then.” Barnes said, folding the tent flap back on itself as the last of the lacing came loose. “Keep an eye on ‘em for ya.”  
Steve shook his head. “What about the cats? The horses?”

Barnes shrugged. “I threw some coin at Logan and the men to bed the kitties down and water the horses. It’s fine.” 

Steve knew then that Barnes had planned this as there had been no time for the other man to hunt Logan down to arrange things with the cats. Barnes’ plan would have had to be arranged and in place before the parade. He also knew that Barnes had done this intentionally because it meant that Steve couldn’t argue, that he couldn’t try to put off Barnes’ offer to help. 

The realisation must of dawned on his face because Barnes’ grin slid into a smirk. 

“That’s right, Stevie.” He said. “I’ve got your number on this one.” 

Steve felt his face flush hot and he opened his mouth to reply. 

“Uh-uh.” Barnes tutted, cutting him off and motioning back over his shoulder towards the ground’s gates and the approaching swarm of rubes. “We got customers.” 

*

Later that night, Steve walked back to his and Sam’s carriage while trying and failing to hide the ridiculous smile that threatened to creep onto his face at every second step, when the movement of his right leg caused the coins lacing his pocket to jingle. 

Barnes showed even less self-restraint, grinning and chuckling, shoving at Steve’s shoulder every time the coins jingled, success making them both giddy. 

Five people had brought sketches that Barnes had hung inside the tent - two pictures of the Big Top, two of the big cats and one of Peggy, heels peaking out from beneath a long line coat, a coy smile on her lips - and Steve done four portraits, all of pretty girls and all commissioned by their dates. 

All up, Steve had turned a pretty penny and each jingle of the coins in his pocket was a merry reminder that people had thought his art was worth money and a hopeful promise that he may be able to support himself. 

Barnes bid him goodnight when they reached the carriage, a knowing smile stretched across his face. Steve knew the other man wanted desperately to gloat - to say ‘I told you so!’ - and that he was just waiting for Steve to give him the opportunity. 

Instead, Steve just grinned back pleasantly, knowing it would frustrate his friend to no end. 

“Goodnight.” he said, looking down at Barnes from where he stood in the open door of the carriage. 

“Sleep well.” Barnes said, stalling, his head tilted back to keep Steve’s eye. 

Steve smirked. “Sweet dreams.” 

Barnes expression soured slightly. “You too.” 

And then, when Steve said nothing else, he turned to go. Steve waited until Barnes was a ways off but still visible in residual glow of the Big Top lights.  
“Hey Buck!” he called out then and watched as Barnes turned. 

“Yeah?” 

“You were right.” Steve called back. “This was a great idea.” 

Barnes there up his hands, frustration evident. “Dammit, Steve!” he called back but he was laughing. “I told you!”

Steve laughed too, giddy. “I couldn’ta done it without you.” he called. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Barnes said, flapping a hand back at Steve. “Ain’t no big thing.” 

Steve watched until Barnes disappeared from view before he hauled the carriage door shut and readied himself for bed. He hid the coin he’d turned in one of his more well worn pairs of socks and tucked them into the bottom of his suitcase. He'd be able to buy a new pair now at any rate, he reasoned. 

Maybe even another shirt.

And he’d pay Barnes back for the sketchbook. 

And give Fury the rent for the tent and his space in the lot. 

That night, Steve fell asleep with a smile on his face. 

*

As it turned out, Steve’s portrait business wasn’t the only change Boston brought to the show. 

Two women, who Steve was later introduced to as Maria and Sharon, were hired to help Frigga in the kitchen after they’d followed the parade back to the Lot looking for work. Neither were Boston natives but both had experience working in commercial kitchens and while Steve was sad that he was no longer needed, he was glad Frigga finally had the kind of help that relieved some of the pressure of her position. 

Being made redundant from his kitchen duties also freed up more time for him to sketch. Which he did. Often. And by the show’s third day in Boston, Steve had even more sketches pinned to the inside of his tent than he’d started with. 

It also meant Steve was able to attend the evening spec, once the rubes had filed into the Big Top and there was no more business to be done with the crowds. He no longer had to sneak in and watch from beneath the seating either but rather used the performer’s entrance freely and sat at the edge of the audience. 

After the first night, Barnes was unable to help Steve at his stall due to his own preparations for the show. But on the second night, Sam had shown up to help out without Steve so much as asking. Steve had spent the whole evening with a grin on his face, knowing that he was now surrounded by people who had his back. Sam had even refused the coins Steve had tried to push his way after the rubes had filtered away. 

“Buy me a soda and we’ll call it even” was all the other man had said, shaking his head when Steve had tried to protest. “Whaddya think friends are for Rogers? Jeez.”

And so it didn’t take Steve long to fall into his new routine. He still woke early and went to help Frigga light the stoves in the kitchens, sitting and  
chatting with her and the other women while they prepared breakfast and tried to shoo him away when he asked to help.

Barnes met him after breakfast and they spent the hour or so of free time they had together before Barnes had to start preparing the cats for the show.  
Steve found that he didn’t turn as much business before the noon show and could usually manage the tent by himself during the day. He ate lunch with Sam and the fellas and then took a plate to Barnes in his trailer and sketched while Barnes puttered about. 

Steve met with Sam in the evenings to open shop approximately two hours before the evening spec started, just when the crowds began to roll in before dusk. He was usually able to fit three or four portraits into that time as long as they were singular pieces and the customers weren’t too picky. He usually sold two or three sketches on top of that as well - the most popular being ones he’d draw of the show and its acts or portraits of the hooch tent girls. 

After the crowds filed into the Big Top, he and Sam closed up and Sam disappeared off in the direction of the hooch tent - to see Darcy, Steve knew - and Steve headed off to find Barnes. 

The first time he had seen Barnes sitting at a dressing table while Natasha blotted pressed powder to his skin, Steve had nearly laughed himself sick. 

“Quit your hooting.” Barnes scolded. “It’s for the show.” 

“Yeah but make up, Buck?” Steve chortled. 

He did not miss the way Natasha’s eyebrows rose when she heard the nick name. 

Barnes rolled his eyes. “Natasha says it’ll stop my face getting washed out by the lights.”

“Is that right?” Steve asked, pulling himself up to sit on the table which Barnes sat in front of, careful not to bump the mirror or any of the cosmetics strewn across the counter top. “You gonna put on some lipstick too?” 

Barnes huffed and flicked his knee, apparently unwilling to move while Natasha continued her work. 

“No. But I am going to put some eye shadow on him so that his eyes stand out more.” Natasha said to Steve’s delight and Barnes’ horror. 

The faces Barnes pulled while Natasha attempted to line his eyes set Steve off again and he had to slide of the table and stand so that his laughter didn’t upset the cosmetics or the mirror. 

However, when Natasha stepped back to reveal her handiwork, Steve’s laughter died in his throat as he took in the deep set of of Barnes’ dark eyes, offset by the even darker darker shadow that lined them. Natasha had not just lined his eyes with the powder but smeared it wide and heavy almost to the line of Barnes’ eyebrow and across the top of his cheeks. 

Steve straightened, watching as Barnes examined his face in the mirror, and felt his cheeks pink when a jolt of heat zip through his stomach.  
Barnes always looked a little wild when he was lit up by the lights of the Big Top and surrounded by the cats, feeding of the nervous energy of the beasts and crowd alike, but now - now he looked almost feral. The effect of the eye shadow was not at all like the starlets that Steve had seen done up on film posters, doe-eyed and coy. Instead, Barnes looked dangerous. Animalistic. Especially when he apparently decided that he liked what he saw in the mirror and grinned, sharp and sudden. 

Steve froze as Barnes’ eye slid to his in the reflection of the mirror, piercing and keen beneath the dark matte of the powder. 

“Whaddya think?” Barns asked. 

Steve opened his mouth. “Uh.” 

Barnes raised an eyebrow. 

“Um.” Steve said and he was almost thankful when Natasha sighed loudly and stood from her stood, drawing Barnes attention away. 

“Men.” she muttered as she swept the cosmetics from the table into her hands and Steve would have wondered what she meant if his brain still was  
caught on the way Barnes looked. 

Barnes thanked her as she left, a sentiment that she met with a silent meaningful gaze before disappearing into another dark corner of the performers’ tent. 

Steve cleared his throat, suddenly released from the spell when he was no longer pinned by Barnes’ gaze. 

“I’m gonna go get a decent seat.” he said, voice cracking when Barnes turned back to him. “Wanna make sure I can see.” 

Barnes frowned and Steve knew he was busted.

Since they’d reached Boston, he’d stayed with Barnes until it was time for the other man to go on. They generally spent the first act peeking around the curtain to watch Natasha and Clint perform or in the menagerie where Steve watched as Barnes made sure the big cats were ready to be lead out into the spec. 

Barnes sighed. “I look ridiculous.” he concluded. 

It was Steve’s turn to frown. “What? No!” 

Barnes rolled his eyes. “C’mon Steve.” he said. “I can tell you’re tryin’ yer best not to laugh.” 

Steve shook his head. “No! I ain’t laughin’, I -”

But Barnes had already grabbed a rag from the back of the chair and had turned back to the mirror. “Hope this mess comes off easy.” he grumbled, before spitting on the rag and lifting it to his face. 

“No!” Steve said and before he realised he was moving, he had made a grab for the rag. 

He missed but Barnes lowered it as he reared back in shock so Steve counted it as a win, despite the heat that rushed to his face. 

“What the hell, Rogers?” Barnes asked. 

“I ain’t laughin’.” Steve huffed. “I promise. I ain’t laughin’.” 

Barnes studied him for a long, silent moment. 

“You sure?” he asked, skeptic. 

Steve flexed his jaw, clamping his mouth shut because he didn’t trust his voice when Barnes’ eyes were on him, and nodded. 

Barnes sighed and threw another unsure look over his reflection in the mirror. 

“Whatever.” he muttered as he stood and brushed past Steve. “Let’s go see the cats.” 

Steve turned and caught his own slightly shell-shocked expression in the mirror. He let out a sigh that took with it the remaining tightness in his chest and then turned and followed in Barnes’ wake. 

*

Steve sat in the crowd that night, unable to tear his eyes from Barnes as his friend prowled around amongst the cats in the Big Top.  
Steve usually went to find Barnes after his act to enjoy the wild flurry of adrenalin-based energy that swept over his friend when the other man emerged from under the stage lights and back into reality. After the spec, Barnes spoke and grinned almost constantly. He teased Steve, both with words and clever tricky hands that pulled at Steve’s hair and shirt, plucking at him when Barnes thought Steve wasn’t paying him enough attention. 

“And didja see, Stevie, when…?” he’d boast, or: “Didja hear ‘em shout?” 

And Steve would beam and nod, batting away Barnes’ hands and laughing when Barnes tried to reenact Khan’s roar or the way it had scared a lady in the front row. 

And, Steve grudgingly admitted, he had thought more than once about how it might feel to cut Barnes off with a kiss; to cover Barnes’ grinning, cheeky mouth with his own and feel Barnes’ smile press back into his. 

He wanted to press his lips to Barnes’ and drink in his energy and enthusiasm and life in and keep it safe for him in his own chest to make sure it never went away. He had dreamt about it after their opening night in Boston and had been haunted by the image since.

It was all he think about when he sat between customers at his tent and all he could see in his mind’s eye when he tried to think of something to draw. 

He felt like he was being eaten alive by the constant, gnawing, nagging want that flared in his belly whenever Barnes looked his way and he felt sick to his stomach whenever he allowed himself to acknowledge it.

So that night, when Khan gave his final roar and the lights dimmed, Steve did not go to meet Barnes as he usually did - as he desperately wanted to - but instead, stood, holding his coat awkwardly over the tented crotch of his pants and slunk out into the night alone. 

*

The next morning, he managed to avoid Barnes at breakfast by hiding in the kitchen to eat with Frigga while Maria and Sharon served. Frigga said nothing but Steve could tell by the glint in her eye that she knew something was amiss.

Steve ate sluggishly, his stomach protesting from lack of sleep and a surplus of anxiety. He had spent the night alone in his and Sam’s carriage - as Sam had not returned from visiting Darcy - and had tossed and turned for most of the night, plague by guilt and revulsion that his own body’s response to his best friend. 

Worse still was the fact that he had not been able to shake the image of Barnes - wild, mused and gleaming with sweat - from his mind. It seemed to be printed on the backs of his eyelids, flashing to the forefront of his mind every time he closed eyes and spurring on his body’s physical reaction and the guilt that accompanied it. 

Eventually, he had given in. 

He had pulled out the rag he kept hidden beneath the mattress of his cot - the one he used to protect his mattress and his under clothes when he couldn’t control his urges. He’d rucked down his skivvies and turned onto his belly, imagining Barnes’ broad hands on his hips positioning him thus. 

Steve sandwiched the rag between his mattress and the rigid, sensitive skin of his cock, sighing when the contact and friction made him flush warm all over. He had tried for long, agonising moments to let his urges take over, to make his hips move seemingly of their own violation, so that he could he could cling to some semblance of innocence when the sun rose the next day. 

But, for the first time since Steve had reached puberty, it was not enough. 

He wanted the touch of skin against his cock, wanted something more than the vivid pictures he concocted in his mind, want something that would properly satisfy the ache between his legs and the tightness in his belly. 

He wanted Barnes. 

It shamed Steve to think of the noise that had escaped him when the thought had forced itself to the forefront of his mind and refused to be ignored. 

Cringing, he slid his hand beneath his hips and gasped aloud as his fingertips brushed the side of his cock. Swallowing hard, he raised his hips a little and took himself in hand, eyes popping open when he felt how large and hot his own cock felt. He gripped the base gingerly, letting himself get accustom to the sensation and tried not to think of the pastor from his old church who had told him, in no uncertain terms, that touching oneself as  
Steve was doing would lead to hairy, damning palms. 

Stroking the curl of his fist over the length of his cock made him whimper, made his hips twitch as they tried to force his cock back into the channel his fingers created. He groaned softly when he realised that he could not get the sensation back quick enough, not when his hand was cramped under the press of his hips, his cock wedged beneath his stomach. 

Steve flipped onto his back, sighing heatedly when it freed up the motion of his hand. He bit his lip, glancing down his front and watching as the damp head of his cock disappeared between his fingers, cheeks immediately heating at the sight. 

He had jammed his eyes shut then trying to will away the thought that his hand was too small, too delicate, that it was not the hand he wanted to be wrapped around his cock. 

The hand he wanted was larger, broader. It was callused from hard work and yet deft and able. 

Steve bit back the groan that burbled in his throat when he thought of when that hand had touched him, had cupped his shoulder, had carefully folded a handkerchief around his bleeding finger, had smoothed his chest when his lungs tried to fail him. 

The stroke of his fist tightened and he whined as the skin of his palm dragged over his cock. His thoughts caught on the last image to fill his mind - on the way Barnes had held him the day of his asthma attack. He could barely recall the sensation of the other man pressed against him - the memory stolen and tainted by the panic that had pulsed through his body at the time. 

But what he could remember made his cock twitch and his breathing shallow. He whined as he sped up the roll of his wrist. 

“ _That’s it_ ,” Barnes had whispered, lips almost pressed to Steve’s ear. “ _That’s it._ ” 

Steve gasped as the memory flashed suddenly through his mind. 

He could imagine Barnes with him now, could imagine the strength of the other man’s arms as he held him, the roughness of his palm on his cock. 

“ _That’s it_ ,” Barnes would say. “ _That’s it, Stevie. Lean back. I got you._ ” 

Steve cried out when his climax tore through him, Barnes’ imaginary voice still echoing in his head. He clutched at the mattress with his free hand as the tremors of his pleasure shook him, feeling unmoored by the intensity of it. 

He had flinched when a pearl of his emission hit the underside of his chin, cheeks flaring with heat when he opened his eyes to find himself streaked with the damning evidence of his own lack of control. 

Steve’s cheeks burnt anew when Frigga called his name and brought him back to the present. 

“You were a million miles away just now.” she observed kindly as she took Steve’s empty bowl from him. 

Steve winced when he suddenly realised he was stiff in his pants once again. He tugged at his shirt front, pulling it down over his lap as he muttered out an excuse about not having gotten much sleep. 

Frigga hummed. “You could fit in a kip this morning, if you’re not meeting up with James.” 

The heat in Steve’s cheeks grew and he slid off his seat atop the counter and onto shaky legs. 

“That - might be a good idea. I might head back to my carriage.” he said and left with a hasty goodbye. 

He had little intention of going back to his carriage though, too worried what he might lapse again if given too much privacy, and instead headed across the lot to his tent. Thankfully, the embarrassment that still tinted his cheeks worked wonders in aiding to diminish the stiffness in his trousers. 

However, despite the lack of physical evidence of his perversion, Steve found he could not meet anyone’s eye as he crossed the lot and instead tugged his cap down further, nodding vaguely if anyone called out his name in greeting. 

His tent would be safe, he reasoned, and he could lose himself in his sketching. He needed to reproduce some of the pieces he had sold the day before - a sketch of the train and one of the animal menagerie. Sketches that related back to the show and the spec were very popular and so Steve had begun recreating sketches that he’d sold in order to turn more coin. He didn't mind it as no two sketches were identical and it gave him an excuse to work from slightly different perspectives and ranges. 

By the time Steve reached his tent, he was considering how he might sketch the spec from the top of the tiered seating, how it would change the perspective and the shadows. Maybe he could sneak into the Big Top and sketch while some of the acts rehearsed before the show. 

And, lost as he was in thought, he found he was entirely unprepared when he rounded the corner of his tent to find someone waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, concrit and comments more than welcome! Thank you for being so patient with me and my erratic updating schedule. 
> 
> If you would like, you can follow my [Tumblr](http://fat-hippie.tumblr.com/)where I sometimes post about LLM and headcannons that I have of this 'verse.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was his lot in life - Steve thought as Peggy’s red lips stretched happily - to be surrounded by attractive brunets with wicked smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am sorry for the long wait for this chapter. I was overseas and ever since have been digging myself out from under paperwork. 
> 
> This instalment is a teeny bit shorter than others but that's because I had to break this chapter into two halves. 
> 
> I will endeavour to have the second half up sometime over the weekend.

It was his lot in life - Steve thought as Peggy’s red lips stretched happily - to be surrounded by attractive brunets with wicked smiles. 

“Mornin’, soldier.” Peggy greeted him and he dipped his head in return whilst trying to regain control of his heart rate.  
“Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Steve shot her a dark look as he bent to unlace the tent, not missing the gleeful sparkle in her eye. However, just as was the case with Barnes, his bad temper only seemed to amuse her.

“What can I do for you, Peg?” he asked, straightening up. 

Peggy’s grin settled into a smile. She cocked her head to the side and considered him for a long moment. As usual, she looked gorgeous - her curves clad in a long line coat, collar turned up against the chill of the morning, cheeks pink and curls falling softly across her forehead. 

“Darcy’s been helping you with the tent.” She said finally. 

Steve frowned, confused. “Yes…” he said.

Peggy nodded. “She said as much. She said it’s been going well.” 

Steve nodded, expression still pinched with confusion. “It has.” He confirmed. 

“Congratulations.” 

“Thank-you?” he replied. 

Peggy was grinning at him again. 

“Darcy also mentioned that you sell a lot of sketches of the girls and I.” 

Panic seized Steve’s chest when he realised what Peggy was getting at. 

“Oh hell, Peg. I’m so sorry. I should have asked to draw you – to use your likeness –”

He was cut off by Peggy’s bubbling laugh. 

“Steve, Steve! That’s not what I’m talking about.” 

“It’s not?” Steve asked, still reeling. 

Peggy shook her head. “No.” she confirmed. “I’ve come with a business proposal.” 

Steve said nothing, waiting for Peggy to continue. If her grin was anything to go by, she was thoroughly enjoying keeping him waiting. 

“I want you to draw me.” She explained finally. 

Steve’s face relaxed as his confusion cleared. “Oh! Of course. I’d love for you to pose for me. Then maybe I could do you justice-l”

“Naked.” Peggy concluded. 

Steve felt his eyes widen in shock. “What?!” 

Peggy nodded. “Think about it, Steve.” She urged. “You could sell them through the hooch tent so as not to offend the  
rubes. It’d be good business. You could double your coin.” 

Steve blinked. “I – did you say naked?” 

Peggy laughed again. “Yes, do try to keep up.” 

“But – but –”

Peggy shushed him. “Think about it.” She urged. “Some of the other girls want to pose too. The rubes will pay a pretty penny for blue pictures and we can split the coin fifty-fifty. Everybody wins.” 

Steve opened his mouth but shut it when words refused to form. 

Peggy was smirking at him and there was something about the quirk of her lips that was all too familiar for Steve’s liking - too knowing. It was as if she already knew he would rise to the challenge she had set and the thought only served to rankled Steve’s temper more. 

He felt himself bristle, shoulders hunching as he opened his mouth to reply. 

“Stevie!” a familiar voice called out and Steve whipped around just in time to see Barnes emerge from between two tents on the opposite side of the walk way. 

He did not miss the way Barnes’ wide smile dimmed slightly when the other man caught sight of Peggy. It warmed Steve to know that he had gotten under Barnes defences - that the other man felt comfortable enough to let his guard down around Steve - but Steve’s chest ached when he was reminded of how carefully Barnes constantly held himself around other people. 

“There you are.” Barnes observed. He was still smiling but Steve did not miss the careful, guarded look in his eyes as they flit over Peggy’s form. “Heya, Carter.” 

Peggy dipped her head. “Barnes.” 

“I been looking all over for you.” Barnes said then as he turned to Steve. “You disappeared last night after the spec.”

Steve’s cheeks flared once again with warmth, his guilt a vicious, rancid thing in his gut. He looked down at his feet in an effort to hide his blush. 

“Yeah, I - err - wasn’t feeling well. The dust, ya know?” 

He felt even worse when Barnes started nodding immediately, accepting the lie. Barnes knew that Steve didn’t like discussing his ailments - that he didn’t like others knowing too much about how his body repeatedly tried to fail him.  
Steve knew that Barnes was trying to cover for him in front of Peggy, going along with Steve’s story - whether he believed it or not - so that Steve didn’t have to explain in any sort of detail. 

Steve’s heart clenched with a sudden, consuming wave of fondness for the other man and he could not help the soft smile that bloomed across his face as he looked up at his friend. His pulse skipped when Barnes smiled back.

Peggy cleared her throat pointedly, breaking the moment. 

“So, what do you say, Steve?” she prompted. 

“Say about what?” Barnes asked before Steve even had time to open his mouth. 

Steve watched as Peggy’s face broke into the sharp grin that she and Barnes seemed to share.

“Nothing” Steve said, cutting his eyes to Peggy. 

She ignored his pointed look. “Just a little business venture I proposed.” she grinned.

Steve held his breath, waiting for her to continue. 

She did not. 

“Think about it, Steve.” she told him instead before saying goodbye and disappearing around the corner on his tent in a swirl of dark curls and a waft of soft perfume. 

Steve let himself relax, the tension seeping from his shoulders with a long exhale. 

He could think clearly without Peggy’s knowing eyes on him. He’d be able to come up with a solid reason why he didn’t think it was a good idea - no matter how many people it “benefitted”. 

“What’s she talking about, Steve?” Barnes asked and Steve jumped guiltily. 

“N-nothin’.” he said immediately. 

Barnes rolled his eyes. “Sure seems like nothin’.” 

Steve huffed, tension returning as quickly as it had left him. 

“No really, Buck. It’s nothin’.” he assured his friend, a little unkindly. “Peg had an idea of how to make some extra coin but I ain’t interested so it’s not gonna happen, okay?” 

Barnes’ eyebrows climbed towards his hair line and Steve wasn’t sure if it was because of what he’d said or the anger that had somehow seeped into his tone. He wasn’t angry with Barnes - not really.

“What was her idea? You gonna be takin’ a shift in the hooch tent?” Barnes asked then, his expression softening into a playful smirk. 

The question was so unexpected - so ridiculous - that Steve could not help but snort, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth as the unanticipated laughter bubbled out of him.

Barnes grinned and stepped closer to sling his arm around Steve’s shoulders, using his other hand to ruffle Steve’s hair. 

“‘Cause ya know, I’m not sure you’re what the hooch rubes generally pay to see.” he continued which started Steve off laughing all over again as he pushed Barnes’ hand away from his hair. 

“Maybe we could dress you up though.” Barnes said as though seriously considering the idea. 

He used his grip on Steve’s shoulder to turn Steve so that they stood face to face and then looked Steve up and down, holding him still with a solid grip on each of his shoulders. 

Steve’s cheeks flushed under the scrutiny and he wiggled in Barnes’ grasp. 

“Leggo, you mug.” he mumbled and Barnes laughed. 

“No, I can see it now. A little baby blue dress. One of Carter’s brassieres on underneath to give you some curves. You’d be the prettiest dame on the lot.” 

Steve laughed again, pushing at Barnes’ hands until the other man let him go. He tried not to think about how the touch of the other man’s hands lingered on his skin - how he could still feel the impression of Barnes’ thumbs across his collarbones - the same hands he had imagined touching him the night before when he’d…

Steve’s laughter caught and died in his throat as he abruptly remembered why he had been avoiding Barnes all morning. Peggy and her bizarre request had thrown him, made him forget for a moment about the guilt coiling in his gut.

“Quit it.” he bit out, trying to ignore the way Barnes’ smile faltered at his sudden change in tone. 

Steve knew he wasn’t being fair to Barnes. Barnes wasn’t the problem. He wasn’t the one who was sick. He didn’t deserve  
to be treated badly when all he’d done was befriend Steve. 

Steve sighed.

“She wants me to draw her.” he admitted, desperate to change his line of thought. “Naked.” 

Barnes reared back, seemingly as shocked as Steve had been when Peggy had first suggested it. 

“She says we could sell the sketches from the hooch tent. Make twice as much as I’m making now. We’d split the profits.” 

When Barnes said nothing, Steve was forced to meet his friend’s eye once more in order to gauge the other man’s reaction. Barnes face was slack with shock and he only managed to blink a few times when he met Steve’s gaze. 

“But I ain’t gonna do it.” Steve reasoned. “It’s not right, is it? That sort of thing?” 

Barnes closed his mouth, his brow furrowing. 

“No, I mean -” he began. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to. Why you’d be uncomfortable with it.” 

Steve bristled. Rationally, he knew that Barnes was probably not doubting his ability or professionalism as an artist or making insinuations about why he might not want to see a beautiful woman naked, but his lack of sleep and the guilt in his gut made him antsy. 

“I meant ‘cause it’s sinful - selling that sort of thing.” he argued. “I got no problem with drawing Peg. I draw her all the time.” 

The frown lines marring Barnes handsome face deepened. 

“Then do it.” he said after a long moment. “What’s the issue?” 

Steve huffed. “My immortal soul.” he countered. 

Barnes laughed harshly. “Rogers, if drawing some risqué sketches is the most sinning you do while your here, you’re getting off easy.” 

Steve hated it when Barnes spoke like that - spoke to him like Steve wasn’t a permanent fixture, like he was going to leave - and the feeling was only magnified by the voice in the back of Steve’s head that assured him he had worse sins to consider, sins for which they’d make him leave - just like his parents had done. 

“Fine then.” he said. “I’ll go let Peg know that we’re on.” 

Barnes’ eyes widened slightly. “Okay then.” he said slowly. 

“Fine.” Steve said again and then turned to follow in the direction Peggy had gone. 

*

Which, he supposed, was how he ended up in Peggy’s trailer a handful of hours later, knuckles white around the edge of his sketchbook as she disrobed behind the folding partition in the corner. 

He had purposefully skipped the midday spec which had meant that he’d been able to fit in a couple of extra sketches.

The extra coins weighed heavily in his pocket - a constant nagging reminder that Barnes would look out into the crowd and not see him there; that he would not be there afterwards when his best friend tumbled back stage to tell him all about the show. 

Steve shook his head in an effort to clear the thought from his mind. 

“Steve?” Peggy asked and Steve looked up to find she had emerged from behind the partition, her modesty protected by a short silk robe. 

She smiled gently and it held none of the mischief or sharpness of the smirk she had wielded against him that morning. 

“Where do you want me?” she asked. 

Steve swallowed and his ears burnt as he motioned her towards the bed which was outfitted with rich dark fabrics. He could already tell that her pale skin would contrast against it beautifully, even if the thought of her naked skin did make his face feel warmer. 

Peggy moved to slip the robe from her shoulders. 

“Don’t-” Steve said. 

Peggy paused. “Ain’t nothing you haven’t already seen, solider.” she reminded him. 

Steve cleared his throat roughly. He felt as though his face would burst into flames. 

“Don’t take it all the way off.” he amended. “If you still have it over your shoulders, you can - ah - part it at the front?” 

Peggy smile widened. She nodded and Steve averted his gaze as she moved towards the bed. 

“Like this?” she asked a few moments later and Steve looked up to find her stretched out on her side along the bed. 

She was facing him, her hips tilted, her right leg draped over her left. She had parted the front of her robe and her breasts nestled softly against one another, framed by her right arm. Steve could see her nipples. They were almost exactly the same colour as the crimson quilt beneath her. 

He swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat. 

“That’s great.” he choked out and Peggy grinned. “Are you comfortable?” 

“Yes.” she told him. “Will it matter if I fall asleep?” 

The question startled a laugh from Steve. 

“No. But I may need to wake you up in an hour so you can change positions.” 

Peggy’s grin turned wicked. 

“I am a girl who appreciates variety.” she quipped and Steve laughed again. 

She wasn’t making fun of him, he could tell. She was trying to put him at ease. 

Just as Barnes had done earlier that morning. Before Steve had lost his temper. 

Steve bit his lip and opened his sketchbook, hooking his pencil from behind his ear with his other hand. He took a seat on the chaise lounge across from the bed, his sketchbook in his lap. He took a deep breath and rested the tip of his pencil against the paper before he looked to Peggy once more. 

“That’s an awfully serious face.” she remarked softly. 

Steve hunched his shoulders defensively. “Shh.” he said. “Rest your head back and stay just like that, okay?” 

Thankfully, Peggy didn’t push. Instead, she rested her head against the pillows as instructed and let him begin. 

The scratch of his pencil against paper was the only sound in the room for a long time. 

*

Steve left Peggy’s trailer just before the evening spec was due to start, his right hand cramping badly and his sketchbook full of drawings that made his cheeks warm to think about. 

He had insisted that the sketches should not be overtly explicit, an idea that made Peggy tilt her head on the side and consider him as though he was something strange. 

The rubes pay to see a show, he’d reasoned. They liked the tease. Therefore, there should be an element of that in the drawings if they were to appeal to the general clientele of the hooch tent. Peggy hadn’t been able to argue - hadn’t wanted too - after he’d shown her the first sketch of her sprawled out across the bed, her robe draped seductively over her curves. 

He had completed another five sketches of her - two of her laying on the bed, one of her laying on the chaise lounge, one of her rolling a pair of silk stocking over her calve muscle and one of her sitting in from of her bureau, the curves of her breasts reflected in the mirror. 

A month ago, he’d never have been able to get that sort of perspective right and it thrilled him that his skill was developing. Even if he was honing it drawing blue pictures. 

His line of thought was cut short when a cheer erupted from the Big Top and he stopped to look back at the imposing figure the tent made across the Lot. 

He could still make Barnes’ act. He had time. He could go hide his sketchbook under his mattress and go an watch the second half of the show. 

It’d be the right thing to do - it would show Barnes that he was sorry without him actually having to say it. 

But it also meant that he’d have to watch Barnes under the stage lights, the ones that made his skin gleam with sweat and his shirt cling to the muscles of his shoulders and back. And afterwards, once Barnes came out of the ring to find Steve waiting for him, Steve would have to endure the other man’s hot hands all over him, pulling at his shirt, musing his hair, touching but never touching enough. 

He swallowed hard, torn, and looked back over his shoulder at the Big Top before turning away and heading towards his trailer. 

*

He made it ringside just as Fury began Barnes’ introduction. Khan and Sekhmet were already pacing the perimeter of the spec and Steve kept his eyes trained on them as he took his seat. 

The tent lights dimmed and Barnes appeared, bathed in the light of a single sharp spotlight, at the far end of the spec. 

Khan roared, louder than the roar of the crowd surrounding him, and the show began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you go. Please let me know what you think by either commenting here or heading on over to my [Tumblr](http://fat-hippie.tumblr.com/) where I post about Stucky, Marvel, LOTR, Bagginshield, Sherlock, other nerdy things as well as my occasional head cannons for this story.
> 
> As an additional author's note, I'm sure that those of you that have stuck by me despite my horrendously sporadic updating schedule will be pleased to know that the second half of this chapter sets into motion events that speed along the progression of Steve and Bucky's relationship so stay tuned! 
> 
> ...please?


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But as he rounded the corner, the sight before him made him stop short. 
> 
> There were two men, as he had thought there would be. And they were locked together, hands grappling over clothes and skin. 
> 
> But, Steve realised with a jolt that shook him to his core, it was an act of passion, not violence.
> 
> He could see, even in the darkness, the way their mouths were fused together, the way their hands grasped at each other, how they rocked together bolstered by the solid wall of the carriage. 
> 
> The picture they made was everything Steve had never let himself want and everything he knew he would never have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lookit me, managing to update in a semi-reasonably time frame! :D

Steve slipped back behind the heavy curtains just before the crowd leapt to their feet to applaud the end of Barnes’ act. The heavy scent of incense and perfume hit him as it always did and Steve wondered, not for the first time, at how quickly the dense scent hanging in the air had come to be one of his favourite things, barring the way it occasionally irritated his lungs. 

“Didn’t think you’d made the spec.” Barnes said, stepping around Steve to approach his dressing table. 

Steve dodged around two small terriers being herded by one of the flop clowns to follow him. 

“Got lost in a sketch.” he replied, ignoring the coolness of Barnes’ tone and hopping up onto his usual perch on the corner of the bureau. 

Barnes flicked his gaze to Steve’s and Steve was caught by how intensely blue the other man’s eyes were, outlined by the smear of  
black kohl across Barnes eyelids and the tops of his cheeks. 

“Sketching Carter?” Barnes asked and Steve had to look away as the heat rushed to his face. 

He hadn’t expected Barnes to ask. Earlier, he had told Barnes he was going to find Peggy to agree to the proposal - not to draw her then an there - and his cheeks burned now at the thought that Barnes knew he had spent the afternoon locked away in Peggy’s trailer with her while she lounged across various pieces of furniture in her birthday suit. 

Barnes looked back to the mirror, beginning to wipe at the pseudo mask the make up made across his face with a cloth from the dresser in front of him. 

“I suppose you’re escorting her to the festivities tonight, then?” Barnes asked and Steve frowned as he watched the material come away from Barnes’ skin, stained black. 

“What festivities?” Steve asked.

Barnes turned to him, cloth held almost to his face, the action arrested in midair. 

“Tonight’s our last night in Boston.” he said, slowly, as though Steve would have trouble grasping such a difficult concept and  
Steve could not help the scowl that spread across his face. 

The last night on a lot was generally cause for celebration and posed proper occasion to do so as the train ride to the next town provided the performers and roustabouts with enough down time to rest their weary, often alcohol-sodden selves. 

Steve knew that the men would start to dismantle the Big Top as soon as the final rube was ushered out of the entrance. They would then start on the smaller tents lining the lot and finally, when all the tents were taken down and the animals stored, the drinking and dancing would begin. 

He realised with a jolt that both he and Barnes had missed the last night of frivolities in favour of each other’s company, tucked away in Barnes’ trailer as the train pulled out of New York. 

“It didn’t come up.” Steve admitted and he did not miss the way Barnes seemed to relax a little into his chair. 

“So you’re going stag then?” 

Steve frowned. “I wasn’t aware I needed a date.” he shot back. 

Barnes chuckled which only served to further Steve’s theory that the other man derived far too much pleasure from ruffling Steve’s feathers. 

“Calm down, you mook.” Barnes grinned. “We can stag it together.” 

Steve huffed. “I ain’t dancin’.” he stated bluntly. And then, when he remembered the sharp bite of Barnes’ whiskey at the back of his throat, added: “Or drinkin’.” 

Barnes rubbed the last dark smudge of kohl from his face and then threw the ruined cloth at Steve. 

“I plan on doing enough of both for the two of us anyway.” he crowed as he stood, hip checking Steve’s knees when Steve was not quick enough to follow. “But first I need a wash and a new shirt.” 

*

When they arrived back at the main lot, the Big Top had already been lowered and Steve wondered at how small it looked, deflated against the ground, its flags and banners already stripped away and rolled up for storage. 

“I asked Sam to deal with your tent.” Barnes explained. “He’s gonna store it in your carriage ’til next stop.”

“I should help him -” Steve begun but Barnes flapped a hand at him. 

“It’s already done.” he explained. “We took it down this afternoon. I collected your sketches too. They’re on your cot.” 

Steve stared. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Barnes rolled his eyes as he hooked a fresh looking cigar from behind his ear and placed it between his lips. 

“Not all of us get to wile away the hours drawing beautiful dames in naught but their skin.” he teased, the cigar dancing with each movement of his lips. 

Steve flushed and found that he did not have a response as he watched Barnes pat down his pockets for his matches and then light his cigar. Steve felt odd when Barnes talked about Peggy, when the other man mentioned Steve spending time with her. His stomach twisted and his heart race skipped in an unpleasant way. It was a sensation that felt almost like guilt. 

“There you are.” called a voice and Steve turned to find Darcy trotting towards them. 

She was still donned in the heavy make up and bold fabrics of the hooch tent and Steve knew she must have only just finished her act as it was still relatively early. 

“Sam’s been lookin’ all over.” she told him, ignoring Barnes in the quiet way that most did. 

Steve did not doubt that Sam had told Darcy all about Barnes’ past as she had regarded him with the same cool aloofness he had seen countless others use around the taller man. He sometimes wondered if Barnes was as aware of it as he was, if it bothered  
the other man as much or if he was hardened to it. 

“Darcy,” he said, fed up. “Have you met James?” 

Darcy stood up a little straighter and from the corner of his eye, Steve saw Barnes freeze, his cigar raised half way to his lips.

“Ah - no. I don’t think so.” Darcy said, managing to recover admirably after only a few awkward moments of silence. 

“James, this is Darcy Lewis. She’s the girl Sam won’t stop flapping his lip about.” Steve grinned. 

Of course, Barnes hadn’t ever talked to Sam long enough to have to listen to one of his love sick sonnets about Darcy but the white lie was loaded with flattery and worked to ease some of the stiffness in Darcy’s spine as she extended her hand. 

Barnes fumbled his cigar back between his lips and took her hand in his own. 

“Pleasure’s mine, Miss Lewis.” Barnes said. “And I can certainly see why Sam is so taken with you.” 

Steve had to wipe a hand over his face to keep from laughing out loud. Darcy certainly was stunning - that was undeniable - but  
in an effort to sound charming, Barnes’ voice changed completely and Steve felt as though his grin would split his face if it  
reached much wider. 

The flattery worked a treat though and Steve noticed, even in the failing light, that the unnatural pink hue of Darcy’s rouged cheeks became a little deeper at Barnes’ honeyed words. 

“Well, at least it’s good he knows he’s batting above his average then.” she said, shocking a genuine laugh from both Steve and Barnes. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” she told Barnes then as she released his hands. “Sam’s been hounding me to find this one for a drink but your more than welcome to join us.”

Steve beamed, pleased with himself that his cunning had paid off. 

“That’d be swell.” Barnes said in the same honeyed tone from before which did little to quell Steve’s self satisfied smirk. “Funnily enough, Steve was just telling me today that he was going to ask you for a dance this evening.” 

Steve’s smile dropped as Darcy’s face lit up. He turned to Barnes who was smirking from ear-to-ear and nodded meaningfully in  
Darcy’s direction just as she swept forward and pulled Steve into a hug. 

“Steve, I’d love to dance with you tonight. You mook, why didn’t you say something earlier? C’mon. Sam and the lads are waiting!”

Steve scowled at Barnes as he was tugged along by the very excited Darcy, shaking his head as the other man just laughed and followed at a slightly more leisurely pace. 

* 

Darcy took them towards the back of the lot where the rail swung round and crowded the carriages up in a tight semi circle. A handful of the carriages were open, spilling the soft light of their lanterns onto the worn grass in front. They weren’t far along the line from Sam and Steve’s carriage and Steve wagered a guess that the open trailers belonged to some of the other roustabouts. 

Two barrels had been rolled into the space and their innards glowed warm with flames. People were gathered around them, enjoying the warmth, laughing and joking, calling to one another as more and more people emerged from the gathering darkness. 

Steve recognised most of the faces he saw, either by name or by sight, but the feeling did not set him at ease as with a sinking feeling, he began to realise he had drawn Barnes into a crowd which was not his own. 

With the exception of Steve and Barnes’ unlikely friendship, Steve had observed that what Sam had told him early in the piece  
about the social order within the show stood true. Performers and roustabouts did not mix. Hell, even Sam and Darcy got sideways looks more for the fact that she was a performer and he a labourer than they did for the fact that she was a white woman dating a black man. 

And that was despite the fact that the hooch girls seemed to fit into the category of performer and working type, giving them some semblance of leeway regarding who they mixed with. As though conjured by the thought, Steve noticed Maria and Sharon were in the group of people gathered around the open mouth of one of the carriage. 

However, the group gathered were mainly labouring men. The sort of men who Barnes paid to cut his firewood and clean up after the cats. The sort of men who might take offence to one of the performers ‘slumming it’ with them out of some sort of imagined pity. Steve’s mind began to race as he tried to figure out a way to excuse Barnes and himself. But Darcy still had a hold of his wrist and people’s heads were beginning to turn in their direction. 

“Darcy! Steve!” Sam called as he leapt from one of the carriages, a bottle clasped in his hand. “Finally, jeez, I - didn’t think I’d ever find you.” 

Steve did not miss the way his friend’s voice caught when he noticed Barnes behind them. 

“Yeah, looks like you were looking real hard.” Darcy responded as Sam drew close and she reached out with her free hand to flick  
the base of the bottle in his hand. 

Sam shrugged and Steve’s gut clenched as the conversation petered out. 

“Steve’s asked me for a dance.” Darcy said after a few long silent moments and Sam’s mouth fell open in surprise. 

“Has he now?” he said right as Steve said: “Darcy, I don’t know…” 

“Good, because I’m stealing first spot on Barnes’ dance card.” Peggy said as she appeared beside Darcy. 

Steve’s eyebrows leapt. Peggy was also still in her stage makeup and a plain royal blue slip dress, her feet clad in solid heels that  
made her almost as tall as Barnes himself. 

Barnes looked just as surprised as Steve when Peggy tugged at his hand. Somewhere, music began to play, bluesy and loud. The kind a fella could easily spin his best girl to. 

“C’mon Barnes,” Peggy said, red lips curling upwards. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”

*

Steve hoped with all his heart that Sam married Darcy Lewis. 

She had not laughed at him when he missed the steps of the dance, or scolded him when he stood on her toes. She whispered the count to him when he lost track of the music and graciously pulled them from the makeshift dance floor at the first sign that his ruddy lungs were about to protest. 

“Sit.” she told him sternly as he hauled himself onto the open lip of one of the train carriages. “I’ll go find us some hooch.” 

Steve spluttered in protest, attempting to slide onto his feet once more. “No, I can go -”

Darcy laughed, though not unkindly. “Relax, Rogers. Besides, I’m the one with the good connections.” 

She winked at him before turning on her heel and heading to the carriage across the way. Steve sighed, cursing his weak lungs  
and his crooked back, and turned his head back to those who were still dancing. 

His eye was immediately drawn to Barnes.

His friend was in the midst of it all, Peggy still on his arm, and together they were quite literally dancing up a storm as the quick movements of their feet kicked up the dust beneath them. 

The other revellers had moved aside to give them room, some even pausing their own dancing to hoot and holler as Barnes flipped Peggy, her dress swirling out wide from her hips, giving the crowd a glimpse of her long smooth legs and the soft curve of her behind where it met the top of her thigh. 

Steve felt his cheeks heat and blessedly, Darcy chose that moment to return, pressing a cool bottle into his hand. She clinked her own bottle to his with a wink before hauling herself onto the space beside him. 

Steve brought the mouth of the bottle up and sniffed it gingerly, wincing when the pungent odour burnt the back of his throat. 

“It ain’t for smellin’.” Darcy warned him and with startling clarity, the night he spent with Barnes in his trailer, the other man drunk from whiskey and grief, came rushing back to Steve. 

He remembered sitting side by side with the other man, the heat that had radiated from him, the smell of the whiskey on his breath.

He looked out to the crowd once more, his eyes resting on Barnes and Peggy, dancing closer now, the current song slower than the last. His gut ached and Steve furiously shoved away the thought that the feeling may be jealousy, cold and fierce, brought on by the traitorous voice in the back of his skull that told him he would never hold the other man as close as Peggy did. 

He brought the bottle to lips and took a long, deep pull from it and attempted to douse the ache with whiskey. 

*

By the time Barnes stumbled from the makeshift dance floor, Steve’s cheeks were warm for a different reason and the whiskey pumping through his system had him leaning heavily against mouth of the carriage. 

“Well,” Barnes pronounced, running his eyes over Steve, head to toe and back again. “It certainly looks like you’re enjoying  
yourself.” 

Steve shrugged off Darcy’s laughter. “Darcy has better whiskey than you.” he replied, swinging his half drunk bottle in front of himself. 

Barnes chuckled. “Is that so?” he asked.

His cheeks were flushed and his brow damp from dancing. He had unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled them to his elbow and  
Steve could not help but stare at the corded muscles of Barnes’ forearm as Barnes reached out towards him.

“I’ve been dancin’ a heck of a long time.” Barnes said and Steve frowned. 

“So?” 

To his side, Darcy snorted.

“So I’m thirsty, Rogers.” Barnes explained. 

Steve flushed when it occurred to him that Barnes was not reaching for him but rather for his drink. 

“Get your own.” he muttered, embarrassed. 

With a start he realised that he had been leaning towards Barnes’ outstretched hand and he pulled back suddenly, curling in on  
himself and back around his bottle. 

Barnes’ eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh, so that’s how it is?” he asked and Steve could only find it in himself to grunt in reply. 

Darcy had all but dissolved into giggles beside Steve, pawing at his arm and hiccuping. 

“What have you done to my woman, Rogers?” another voice demanded and Steve squinted, trying to focus his eyes on Sam as the other man emerged from the dancing crowd. 

“I ain’t done nothin’.” he told him just as Darcy piped up with; “I am my own damn woman, Samuel Wilson”. 

The sassy bite of her tone mixed with the slight slur of her speech set Steve giggling and once he began, he found he could not stop, the convulsions shaking him so hard that he missed the look that Barnes and Sam shared.

“You damned soaks.” Sam cursed fondly. “The pair of you are three sheets to the wind off half a serve of whiskey.”

Darcy giggled. “You ain’t one to talk, you -”

Sam growled playfully, cutting her off. “Shut your mouth, you lush. Some things should stay between a man and his woman.” 

“She’s her own damn woman, Samuel Wilson.” Steve cut in and Darcy howled with laughter, listing sideways and knocking into his  
shoulder. 

Steve grinned wider when he heard the deep rumble of Barnes’ laugh as well and he turned back to find the other man watching him. 

“We should word Fury up.” Barnes said. “Get you two your own comedy act.” 

Steve screwed up his nose at the idea. “Naw. I like drawin’.” 

Barnes laughed again. “I know you do, Stevie.” he said and Steve could not help the warmth that pooled in his belly at the intimate sound of the nickname on Barnes’ lips. “You darn good at it too.” 

Steve lifted his chin proudly. “Damn right.” he agreed before his modesty caught up with him. “I mean, not as good as you are at  
dancin’.” he amended. 

Barnes shook his head, the corner of his lips twitching up, ruining the mask of earnestness that had settled over his face. “Better.”  
he argued. 

“Noooo.” Steve complained, drawing the sound out and squinting in an effort to make sure Barnes was not smirking at him. 

“Were you watching me dance just now?” Barnes asked and Steve nodded hurriedly. 

“You tore the place up!” 

Barnes grinned at that. “I guess I do okay at that sort of thing. It’s awful thirsty work though.” 

Steve nodded again. Barnes’ face was flushed, sweat gleaming on his brow. Steve licked his lips before he thought to stop  
himself. 

“A man could use a drink after dancin’ like that.” Barnes said and Steve found himself nodding again. 

A moment passed and Steve frowned when Barnes’ eyebrows raised expectantly. 

“Steve.” 

“What?” 

“Give me some of your damn whiskey.” 

Steve sat up a little straighter as he suddenly remembered the bottle in his hand. He squinted down at it and swallowed around the numbness of his throat, remembering how smooth it was when it went down. 

He laughed. “No!” he replied. “This is the good stuff! Darcy got it for me.” he said all at once, beaming when Darcy and Sam began to laugh uproariously beside him. 

Barnes made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat and lunged forward, grabbing for the bottle.  

Steve squawked and flung himself backwards, sprawling into the open mouth of the carriage, swinging his bottle up over his head. He giggled helplessly as Barnes cursed at him, grinning up at the roof of the carriage. He took another swig of his whiskey in celebration. 

He almost choked when Barnes’ hands settled on his thighs. 

“Give it.” Barnes growled and Steve found he could not reply, stuck on the warm sensation of Barnes’ hands separated from his thighs by only the thin, worn linen of his trousers. 

“Steve!” Barnes said again and Steve gasped as the other man dug his fingers into his legs as if to get his attention. 

Shame rolled through Steve as the sensation shot straight to his cock and he sat up quickly, trying to conceal the physical effect Barnes’ touch caused. However the rush of sitting up so fast mixed with the whiskey caused his vision to swim and he threw out his free hand desperately to catch himself, groaning.

“Ah, shit.” he heard Barnes mutter. “Stevie, you okay?” 

The softness of the other man’s voice did not help the shameful response of Steve’s body. He could imagine laying in Barnes’ arms as the other man whispered to him just so. 

He groaned again as his stomach rolled. He felt a cold sweat break out across his top lip. 

Barnes’ hands were on his shoulders now. The heat of them felt like brands through the cotton of Steve’s shirt. He wanted to feel them on his skin.

“M’sick.” he groaned.

“Oh hell,” Steve heard Sam curse. “I better get him back to ours before he hurls.” 

Steve pushed at the hands on him, unsure whether they were Sam’s or Barnes’. 

“No,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “M’not a child.” 

“It’s okay, Steve. Whiskey is a helluva drink.” Darcy said and shame rolled through Steve anew at the thought that she was seeing  
him in such a state. 

“I’ll take him.” Barnes said to Sam and Steve gasped when his thighs were spread suddenly as Barnes hip-checked his way between them. “You owe Darcy a dance after all.”

Steve pushed at Barnes’ shoulders, unadulterated fear twisting at his insides as Barnes’ hands gathered him back towards the lip of the carriage and closer to Barnes’ chest. 

“Dammit Steve.” Barnes cursed, stepping back with the force of the shove. “I’m trying to get you back on your feet.” 

He stepped forward and pulled at Steve again, hard enough that Steve’s ass slid from his seat on the carriage. 

Steve cried out as he felt his equilibrium shift too suddenly, certain that he was about to fall. But Barnes caught him, pressing him  
back swiftly so that he was held between the solid expanse of Barnes’ front against his own and the harsh lip of the carriage  
against his back. 

Steve choked on a whimper as the movement caused him to slide down the length of Barnes’ front, his arousal unmistakable - pressed together so tightly as the were. The hot sick pleasure of the friction caused Steve’s legs to weaken beneath him and he had to grasp at Barnes’ rigid arms as he sunk to the ground in order to stay upright. 

The second he had his feet beneath him, he canted his hips away, trying to put some distance between the solid heat of Barnes’ thigh and the traitorous own of his stiff cock. 

“Fuck.” he whispered, hot tears burning at the corners of his eyes, the foul word foreign on his tongue. 

He knew by the way Barnes tensed against him that the other man had felt it. There was no way he couldn’t have, not when Steve had practically felt the rasp of each button on Barnes’ shirt through his fly, the catch and pull of the other man’s belt on his own. 

Barnes’ grip on the backs of his forearms was like iron as the other man stood frozen against him. Frozen in shock, Steve wagered. Soon the disgust would come and he prepared himself to be flung away when Barnes’ finally realised what the heat between Steve’s legs meant. 

The moment did not come and eventually Steve pushed at Barnes’ arms himself. 

“Leggo.” 

The whispered demand seemed to rouse Barnes from whatever stupor had fallen over him and he finally let go of Steve’s arms. 

Steve hurriedly wiped at his eyes with his cuff, glancing to the side to find that they were alone, Sam and Darcy having disappeared into the night. 

He could not bring himself to look at Barnes. Not now that the other man knew. He could not bare to see the look of disgust and contempt that he knew would be lined across Barnes’ face. Not when he had already seen it on his father’s face, on his mother’s face. 

“C’mon.” Barnes said finally. “Let’s get you back.” 

Confused, drunk and broken, Steve did not have the energy to argue. 

*

They walked in silence, Barnes trailing just behind Steve’s peripheral vision, and Steve was so caught up in his head that he was embarrassed by how long it took him to realise they were headed for Barnes’ carriage and not his own. 

He pulled up short at the thought, causing Barnes to knock into the back of him. 

“Steve?” Barnes asked softly. 

“What-” Steve began but a sharp noise to their left cut him off. 

It had sounded like a cry of pain, the sort a man has no choice to give when the air is knocked out of him by a swift hit to the gut.  
Steve had been hit by enough school bullies to have heard the sound a hundred times. He stood stock still, listening for it again.

“Steve-” Barnes said, tone wary. 

“Sh.” Steve said, just as the sound happened again. 

He turned towards it, stumbling, still unsteady on his feet in his haste. Barnes grabbed at his arm to pull him back but he would not be deterred. If someone was being hurt, he was going stand up for them. 

“Steve!” Barnes hissed again as Steve tore his arm from his grip. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

Steve ignored him. The sound was closer now, echoing out from between two closed storage carriages, the dark space between a perfect place for an ambush, for a fella to drag another into and shake him down. 

Steve swallowed at the thought of what he might find as he rounded the corner of the carriage, almost checking behind him to see if Barnes was still behind him, to make sure he had back up. At least swinging his fists might prove to Barnes he wasn’t a fairy. 

But as he rounded the corner, the sight before him made him stop short. 

There were two men, as he had thought there would be. And they were locked together, hands grappling over clothes and skin. 

But, Steve realised with a jolt that shook him to his core, it was an act of passion, not violence.

He could see, even in the darkness, the way their mouths were fused together, the way their hands grasped at each other, how they rocked together bolstered by the solid wall of the carriage. 

The picture they made was everything Steve had never let himself want and everything he knew he would never have. 

He stood frozen in shock, listening to their soft sighs and the wet sound of their lips on one another until the smaller of the two -  
Peter, Sam’s friend, Steve realised suddenly - bit the lip of the other man - Wade - and the latter let out the same hurt sound that had drawn Steve to them. 

Steve felt as though he was on fire, his skin prickling all over with the rush of hot blood as that wounded sound buried itself into his brain. He swallowed, hard and dry, his next breath coming rough into his lungs. 

Suddenly, there was a hand on his own, soft and coaxing. 

He looked back with wide eyes to find Barnes watching him - watching him watch the other men who remained oblivious in their enjoyment of each other. He wanted the ground to crack beneath his feet and swallow him whole. He wanted to scream.

He opened him mouth to speak - to scream, he didn't know - but no sound came out save the roughness of his own breath.  
Barnes’ hand tightened around his own. 

“C’mon.” Barnes whispered low, voice barely above a whisper. 

But Steve’s feet refused to move. 

“C’mon” Barnes whispered again and finally, Steve let himself be led away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. Steve is about to be forced to face some of his biggest demons. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think either by dropping me a line here or heading over to my [Tumblr](http://fat-hippie.tumblr.com/) where I generally moon over these two dorks. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They walked in silence - deep, uncomfortable and oppressive silence - and Steve could not help but feel the merriment of the festivities behind them had taken on a mocking edge as the silence stretched and thickened between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Not so polished as I would like but you have all waited long enough for this chapter! Thank you all for the feedback and messages I have received for this story over the last four months. I am so overwhelmed that so many of you were so eager for it to continue. Much love to you all!
> 
> WARNING: Mentions of past sexual abuse as well as internalised homophobia in this chapter.

They walked in silence - deep, uncomfortable and oppressive silence - and Steve could not help but feel the merriment of the festivities behind them had taken on a mocking edge as the silence stretched and thickened between them. 

The warmth of the whiskey in his gut had turned cold and he shivered uncontrollably as he followed the rigid line of Barnes’ shoulders back down the line of the train cars. 

Barnes kept a steady pace, a few feet ahead of Steve, and didn’t look back once - even when Steve lost his footing on the uneven ground and stumbled forwards. 

As Steve righted himself, he was hit with a realisation. 

“This isn’t they way to my carriage.” he said, tongue still loose from the alcohol that had numbed it. 

Barnes did turn then, though his posture nor his face softened. 

“You are travelling with me.” he countered and there was nothing in his tone that invited argument. 

“But - ” Steve found himself saying anyway. “But.” 

He could only just make out the arch of Barnes’ eyebrow in the failing light. 

“But what, Steve?” 

Steve’s mind reeled, filled to brimming with the memories of the sensation of Barnes pressed tight against him, of the friction, of the hurt noise Wade had made when he was bitten, of the sick lingering want that was cooling in the base of his gut. 

“They - they - it’s wrong.” He muttered, trying to encompass everything he felt in that moment in words that failed to even form properly in his mouth. 

“For God’s sake!” Barnes barked. “Just get inside.”

Steve blinked and realised with a jolt that they were standing by Barnes’ trailer. 

“But -” he said again but was cut off when Barnes let loose a frustrated groan. 

“Steve, we can’t talk about this outside. Any of it - okay?” He hissed. “Get inside.”  
Steve felt a spark of anger ignite in his chest and he clung to it, desperate to feel something other than the confusion and hurt that seemed to glut his chest and make it difficult to breathe. 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” he countered. 

Barnes paused before turning and unlocking the carriage door in sharp, jolting movements. 

Steve thought for a moment that the other man was fed up with him - ready to leave him and shut himself away in his carriage and be done with the ridiculousness of that evening and the sham that was the friendship they had been nurturing. 

Steve swallowed heavily at the thought, his anger immediately doused by the cold realisation that Barnes had every right to walk away from him - to be disgusted by him - to turn his back on him the way his parents had done. 

Tears burnt in the corner of Steve’s eyes but his strangled call of the other man’s name was drowned out by the squeal of the carriage door as Barnes heaved it open. Steve’s stomach rolled as Barnes hauled himself into the carriage, knowing that once the other man closed that door, he would be alone once more. 

But Barnes turned then and while his face was still tight with anger, he knelt and offered a hand to Steve. 

Steve refused to let his knees give way beneath him though the surge of relief through his system made them feel as though they would.  
Barnes’ palm was cool and dry against his own as the other man clasped his hand in his and hauled him into the carriage. 

Steve’s stomach swooped at the sensation of being lifted and it took a long moment for his legs to feel steady beneath him even as Barnes set a steadying hand against his shoulder. 

“Okay?” Barnes asked and Steve found he could not meet the other man’s eyes even as he nodded. 

“Okay.” Barnes said again and slid past Steve to heave the carriage door shut once more. 

The squeal of the metal seemed almost deafening however it was nothing compared to the all consuming silence that followed. Eventually, Steve could not bear it any longer and looked to his friend only to find Barnes still standing his his hands curled around the handle of the door. 

“Steve.” Barnes said but then seemed to lose the end of the thought. 

Steve’s gut clenched at the possibility of what Barnes might say next.

“You gotta understand -” Barnes said then, haltingly. “You gotta know that it’s - different.”

He turned and when he caught the look of confusion that pinched Steve’s brow, he sighed. 

“You chose this life.” 

Steve’s confusion flashed hot. He had explained his situation to Barnes - that he no longer had a home - and he thought the other man had understood. 

Barnes - now apparently well versed in deciphering the subtle variations of Steve’s expressions of annoyance - held up his hands in a pacifying manner. 

“No, I mean - you had to leave. I know that.” He lowered his hands. “But you chose to come here - to the spec.” 

Steve considered his friend for a long moment before nodding. 

“Some of us - “ Barnes stopped. “Most of us - those that aren’t roustabouts anyway - didn’t choose the show. We were born to it.” 

Barnes paused again, seeming to choke on a humourless laugh, and Steve remembered the night Barnes had told his own story - that his friend had been abandoned by the one person that was supposed to love him unconditionally - that the circus was all that Barnes knew or had ever known. 

“We’re here,” Barnes continued, “because someone didn’t love us enough to give us another option. Because we have no family. Because we’re trying to make our own.” 

Steve did not miss the stiff way Barnes held himself as he spoke nor the way he seemed to be looking at the vacant space over Steve’s left shoulder rather than meeting his gaze.

“So when some lucky son’bitch finds someone else to love them…” Barnes trailed off with a shake of his head. “Well, that’s - that’s…” 

He didn’t finish. He looked down, blinking rapidly. 

Steve’s chest seized with emotion, with the desire to go to his friend and hold him, but everything about Barnes’ posture said that he did not want to be touched. He looked like a trapped animal. The way Sehkmet had looked, trapped in her cage with her two cubs prone before her - anxious and hurting. The way… 

The way Barnes had looked when he had confessed to slitting Pierce’s throat because of what the other man had done to him.

Barnes took a deep, fortifying breath. “What I’m trying to explain is that we don’t - we don’t condemn people because the person who loves them is the wrong gender.”

Steve felt as though the floor had given way beneath him. 

“W-what?” he choked out. 

“You heard.” Barnes replied.

“But -” Steve said. “But.” 

His knees trembled. His skin felt as though it was shrinking, constricting him. A wave of nausea swept over him.

“But it’s wrong.” he said, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. 

Barnes gave another ugly laugh. “Why?” he asked. 

Steve blinked. “Because it says so -”

“In the Bible?” Barnes asked. 

Steve nodded. 

“The Bible also says we shouldn’t shave or eat ham.” Barnes retorted and Steve’s mouth shut so quickly that he heard his teeth click. 

Finally, Barnes looked at him and the hurt, guarded look in his eyes almost made Steve flinch away from his gaze. 

“You don’t have to agree.” Barnes said then. “But those two -” he nodded towards the door. “They aren’t hurtin’ anyone. They’re just finding some comfort in each other. They - they love each other and they aren’t hurting anyone by doing it.” 

Steve opened his mouth and then shut it when no words came. He could not believe what he was hearing. 

“So people - know?” he asked finally, the realisation settling over him.

Barnes shook his head. “Not people. Not everyone. But some. It’s sort of the Lot’s worse kept secret.”

“And -” Steve’s voice caught. “And they’re okay with it?” 

“They know there are worse things in the world than finding someone to love.” Barnes said in response. 

As the words settled over Steve, he began to feel as though he had lost the function of his senses. His vision and hearing - which were poor at the best of times - seemed to collapse into a warped distortion. His skin prickled with goosebumps and a cold sweat broke out on his top lip. 

He had assumed - when he had told Barnes about why he had left home - that the other man had not turned him away in disgust simply out of pity. Then Barnes had told him about Pierce and Steve had assumed that his friend’s tolerance was born from some twisted sense of solidarity - the understanding that these types of things happened - could happen to anyone.

But now - now Barnes was standing in front of him and telling him that all the perverted desires he felt - the ones he’d been taught were so heinous that they could strip a child of their parents’ love - were acceptable and that he found nothing wrong with them. Even after everything he’d been through - everything he’d suffered through at the hands of Pierce. 

Did that mean that Barnes had not been disgusted when he had felt the evidence of Steve’s arousal pressed against him? Did it mean that Barnes himself was an invert? Steve’s mind reeled as it was flooded with possibilities, all of which seemed to be more unlikely than the last. 

Barnes seemed to misinterpret his silence. 

“Steve.” he began. “I can see how this might be difficult for you. Considering. But those two - they love each other. They aren’t hurtin’ one another - or anyone else. So even if you don’t agree, I gotta ask you don’t say nothin’ - that you don’t rat them out.” 

Steve still felt off kilter - left reeling again by Barnes’ uncharacteristic rambling and by the assumption Barnes had made as to why it would be difficult for Steve and not himself- and it took a moment before he fully realised what Barnes had requested - what his friend feared Steve would do. 

“No. I mean, I wouldn’t.” he managed finally. “Like, you said - they aren’t hurtin’ anyone.”

Not like Robert. 

Not like Pierce. 

Barnes seemed to deflate all at once, the tension falling from his shoulders as he exhaled a long sigh of relief. 

Steve’s mind was still ablaze with questions but when he opened his mouth to speak - he was cut off. 

“I sorta figured you’d see reason.” Barnes said, smiling for the first time since he had lead Steve away from the festivities. “I mean, you’re okay with Wilson and Lewis and that ain’t exactly kosher.” 

Steve frowned, thrown yet again. He wondered if there would ever come a time when conversations with Barnes didn’t leave him feeling as though he was constantly trying keep pace with the other man, as though he was following a different course of discussion when Barnes was following another. 

“What?” 

Barnes pulled a face. “Wilson’s black.” he said, as though that explained everything. Then, when the confusion on Steve’s face didn’t clear, he continued: “Lewis is white.” 

Clarity dawned over Steve. “People have a problem with that?” 

Barnes laughed incredulously. “Not so much ‘round here, but yeah. Some do. Surely you ain’t so blind you didn’t notice the looks they get?”

Steve had. Sometimes the other men threw dirty looks at Sam’s back when Darcy walked by but he’d only thought they were jealous. Darcy was a real looker after all and Sam was the lucky fella that had won her heart. 

Barnes laughed again when Steve told him as much. 

“You’re a good man, Steve.” his friend told him and Steve felt himself flush but when he opened his mouth to reply, he was interrupted once  
more. 

“One of the best.” Barnes said emphatically, silencing any argument. “First you agree not to rat on those two fellas and then you tell me you hadn’t noticed the colour of Wilson’s skin? That you don’t got a problem with Wilson and Lewis being together when you got one awfully big reason not to like it?” 

“Huh?” Steve felt his brow furrow once more. “What are you talking about?” 

Barnes frowned back at him. “Lewis.” he said. “You’re sweet on her, ain’t you? I mean, I was sure it was Carter that had caught your eye but after tonight, I guess I was wrong.” 

“You are wrong!” Steve fired back. “I don’t like Lew - Darcy!”  
Barnes shook his head. “It’s okay, Steve. I ain’t gonna tattle.” 

“There’s nothing to tell!” Steve cried. He could not believe how badly Barnes had his wires crossed. 

He wanted to sit down. He felt like his head was spinning. Barnes kept surprising him - kept throwing him for a loop - and Steve was left feeling exhausted as he tried to keep up. He looked longingly at one of the armchairs to the side of Barnes’ dresser. 

“Then…” Barnes said and his tone made Steve’s gaze snap back to his friend. 

Barnes sounded like a man on the edge of a daunting realisation and Steve could guess what it was. If Barnes had founded the ridiculous notion of Steve being sweet on Darcy from the events of that one night - surely it wasn’t so much of a leap for him to realise who it was that Steve was truly caught on.

“But you…” Barnes said then and Steve felt his stomach seize in fear. 

Apparently lost for words, Barnes continued by waving an inelegant hand in front of his own crotch. 

Steve’s face felt as though it had burst into flames and he wished terribly that the floor might give way beneath him and provide some sort of escape route. Barnes’ own cheeks were tinged pink. 

He could not risk Barnes finding out. Even if his friend was sympathetic to Peter and Wade’s plight - being an invert sympathiser and being an invert were two completely different demons. The forefront of Steve’s mind flooded images of Barnes since they had met - with the experiences they had already shared. 

His every day life now revolved around the man who stood in front of him. Barnes was unequivocally the best and closest friend Steve had ever had - a thought which was sobering and exciting all at once, and which cemented the notion that Steve could not risk losing Barnes firmly in his mind. 

“Yeah, well.” he floundered, trying to buy more time to think of a logical excuse. “Jeez.” 

Barnes was still watching him, head cocked like a bloodhound on a scent. The sweat on Steve’s top lip had spread to his throat and chest. His shirt stuck to him uncomfortably. His mind resolutely refused to provide a logical excuse. 

“I -” he choked out. “I - um.” 

Barnes seemed to take pity on him then. “Relax, Rogers. I ain’t seen you this worked up since you first met Carter.” 

Steve’s mind ground to a halt, clinging to the memory. The rich musk of the hooch tent, the dim lights, Carter’s perfume and all that bare skin. Barnes’ teasing afterwards, the embarrassment he’d felt when he told Barnes’ the truth - that his first kiss had been with a girl who was getting paid to do it and in front of a crowd of salivating, hollering men. 

“You’re a jerk.” he muttered, face aflame. 

But then, he was struck with an idea. 

“Why you gotta rile me so much about dames, huh?” he asked, looking down at his shoes. “You know I ain’t had much to do with them before now.”

Steve still felt embarrassed - talking about this sort of thing always made him so - but he finally felt as though he was on an even footing with Barnes. 

Barnes said nothing and Steve didn’t dare look up. He was a ruddy liar at the best of times - let alone when the person who arguably now knew him better than anyone else in the world was staring him down. 

“You gave me stick about Carter and now Darcy. I mean, she’s a looker. Just ‘cause I - ” he fumbled for the word. “-react to her don’t mean I got any designs on my friend’s girl.” 

Silence descended over them once more though Steve was almost sure he could hear the hum of how quickly his heart was racing in his chest. 

A heavy sense of guilt began to curdle in his gut. He was lying to Barnes - again. Lying to protect the lie he was already living. He swallowed, overcome by how suddenly the feeling enveloped him. 

But Barnes seemed to buy it. 

“I guess I did kind of jump to conclusions.” he said and the tone of his voice gave Steve the strength to lift his head. 

Barnes smiled tentatively as their gaze met and Steve felt the ground move beneath his feet - a sensation that was explain a mere moment later when the call of the train whistle echoed down the line. The train was moving on. 

 

**

Later, Steve woke curled to one side of Barnes’ generous cot. 

Once the train had rolled out from Boston, they had spent the evening in companionable silence. Barnes leafed through one of his worn paper backs, sprawled across the bed, while Steve curled into his favoured arm chair, his sketchbook in his lap and tried to think of something to draw. 

However, it had been impossible to do so when his mind was still caught on the events of the evening. It seemed every time he looked to the white paper before him, all he could see in his minds eye was how tightly Peter and Wade had been pressed together between the carriages, the shy smile Barnes had given him, the curve of the other man’s jaw. 

He was so caught on the visions he knew he could not draw, that he failed to notice the lamp by Barnes’ bed begin to dim, the oil running low. In fact, it was not until Barnes gave a soft murmuring snore, that Steve was able to pull himself from his thoughts long enough to realise that his friend had fallen asleep with his paper back played across his chest. 

As though waning in sympathy, Steve’s own body had chosen that moment to let him know that he too was exhausted, his joints aching from sitting too long in the one position, his eyes burning from staring too long at the same blank page. 

Wary of his creaking joints and careful not to wake Barnes, Steve had stood, leaving his sketchbook behind on the armchair and crossed the gently swaying carriage to the unoccupied side of the bed. 

He had been struck once more with how the years seemed to melt from Barnes with he slept. Steve reasoned that it was perhaps the vulnerability of the other man’s sleep-slack face that did it. Like this, Barnes’ defences were all but non existent and it warmed Steve that the other man trusted him enough to let him witness it. 

He had lowered himself onto the cot beside his friend and gently removed the novel from beneath Barnes’ slack hands, setting it on his own bedside table before resting his head down on the pillow. Curled on his side, he studied Barnes’ handsome profile. The easy rise and fall of the other man’s chest was the last thing he saw before his eyes drifted shut, weighed down by the excitement of the evening and the sense of calm his bedmate exuded. 

Now, he was not sure what had woken him, only that he was alone in the bed and that the carriage was darker for the absence of the lamp from Barnes’ bedside table. Steve frowned, sleep addled and confused. 

As he sat up he realised that the only light source was coming from the open door way of the privy, to the right of the bed. The elongated shadow thrown across the floor and the bottom half of the wall indicated Barnes’ presence in the lavatory as well.  
Steve eased himself back onto the mattress, appeased and willing to let sleep take him once more when he was sure that Barnes would return to bed. 

But then he heard it. 

A low, breathy moan - not so dissimilar from those which Wade had made earlier that evening. 

His eyes snapped open, fixating on the shadow of his friend which swayed and danced across the floor of the carriage, rebounding up the wall with each sway of the train on the track. With a jolt, he recognised the moment of the shadowy figures arm and what the motion meant - what Barnes was doing. 

He was touching himself - and if the next breathy noise was any indication, he was close to his completion. 

Steve’s entire body flushed hot, his cock hardening so quickly inside his trousers that he felt dizzy with the sudden rush of blood southwards.  
He swallowed thickly, wincing when the dry snick of his throat sounded too loud in the otherwise quiet room - even to his own shoddy ears. 

He strained to hear, drawing himself up so that his hearing was not further muffled by the pillow beneath his head. When he sat forward, he realised he could hear more than just the occasional pleasure-pain noise that escaped from Barnes but also the slick sound of flesh on flesh. 

Of Barnes’ hand on his cock. 

It was all he could do not to gasp aloud when the soft wet noise was joined by a whispered: “ah, fuck.” 

Barnes’ voice sounded like nothing Steve had ever heard before and the whispered profanity seem to crackle down his spin like lightening, making his own cock jerk and throb helplessly beneath his fly. 

He bit his lip as one traitorous hand moved to grip the rigid budge of his erection and squeezed in a futile attempt to discourage the reaction. 

But it was no use. 

He could tell by the motion of Barnes’ shadow that the other man’s movements were becoming wilder, faster. Soon, he thought he could hear every harsh breath the other man released as he chased his pleasure selfishly. He wondered at how loud Barnes’ was panting if he could hear it from across the room until he realised that his own breathing mimicked that of his friend almost perfectly. Steve bit down harder on his bottom lip and used all of his will power to remove his hand from his crotch, rolling then onto his stomach to try and ease the temptation. 

He found though, unfortunately, that this only increased the amount of friction against his cock and he could not help the hitch of his hips when Barnes gave what sounded like a almost pained groan. 

Steve jammed his eyes shut as he tried to will his traitorous body still, is hand fisting in the sheets beside his bed. His whole body seemed to twitch with the throb of his pulse along his cock. He could not think of a time when he had been so aroused - so tempted to - 

Closing his eyes seemed to only heighten his other senses and soon, Barnes' ragged breathing and the slick of his hand seemed to be all Steve could hear, the creaks and groans of the train dropping away and replaced with those that made his blood run hot in his veins. 

Barnes' tempo seemed to increase then, his panting dissolving into rough pattern of “ah, ah, ah” as he neared his peak. 

Steve’s grip on the sheets tightened, his knuckles aching with the effort, as he squirmed his hips away from the friction, the loss of which forced a low whine from his throat.

“Oh, God.” Barnes gasped then, his voice choked with pleasure, and Steve’s eyes flew open when the next word that sliced through the otherwise stillness of the carriage was: 

“Steve!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. Please let me know what you think! 
> 
> Happy Holidays! xo


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me, Barnes, did you rob him after you slit his throat?” 
> 
> Steve’s blood ran cold. He knew other people knew. He knew that Sam knew. He knew that Barnes’ past was one of the reasons the other man was ostracised by so many of the crew and by some of the other performers. But Steve had never heard anyone besides Sam speak of it, especially to Barnes’ face - despite the whispers that seemed to follow him constantly. 
> 
> “Did you rob him or did you already have enough from him paying you to f—”
> 
> The voice was silenced by the sickening, unmistakably violent sound of flesh across flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise profusely for the delay on this chapter. Real life is a bitch. 
> 
> Thank-you to those who are sill putting up with me and following this story. 
> 
> *WARNINGS: brief mentions of past sexual abuse and some non explicit physical violence.

Every muscle in Steve’s body felt frozen solid. His knuckles ached where they fisted sheets. Sweat pooled in the small of his back and across the base of his hair line. 

He crushed his eyes closed and drew them open, expecting to wake from a dream. But the softly lit decor of the carriage remained the same. 

Barnes’ shadow loomed through the cracked door of the lavatory, still now, save for the laboured rise and fall of his shoulders as the other man drew in great gulping breaths. 

Steve, even with his blighted hearing, could still make out the rasp of each draw of air into the other man’s lungs. Though maybe, he thought wildly, it was the sound of his own. 

Regardless, the harried rasp made frantic duet with the thudding of his own pulse which thundered in his veins. 

A symphony that kept him hard and aching against the solid press of the cot beneath his hips. 

What little part of his mind that wasn’t ruled by his libido in those few frantic moments warred between almost overwhelming disbelief and a tentative, yet ecstatic joy. The two emotions seemed to tear him almost in half, clashing and colliding - neither giving more than a little ground before the other raged back. 

Thus, Steve remained frozen until Barnes’ shadow flicked across the wall and Steve heard the sound of water splashing as Barnes rinsed his hands with the wash jug and bowl. The jug and bowl that they shared to freshen up of a morning. Steve swallowed down against the broken sound that tried to escape his throat. Surely - surely, he was dreaming. 

He turned his head to the other side on the pillow, easing the awkward angle of his neck, unwilling to watch Barnes walk back towards the bed for the fear of giving himself away.

But there was no mistaking the way the mattress dipped when Barnes returned to the bed for anything but reality. Steve had to concentrate on keeping his breathing even and his shoulders steady as the other man settled beside him, the cool air he let in tickling along the back of Steve’s sweat damp knees as Barnes tossed and disturbed the covers. 

After what seemed like an age, Barnes stilled with a sigh. Steve’s skin prickled torturously as the other man’s body heat began to seep across the covers. 

And then, then Steve felt Barnes hand rest lightly between his shoulder blades, blood hot despite material of Steve’s shirt between their skin. Unbidden, his breath left him in a whoosh, seemingly forced out of his lungs by the smallest pressure of Barnes’ hand against his back. 

Barnes didn’t seem to notice. Nor did he remove his hand.

Instead, his fingers began to move slowly back and forth over the material of Steve’s shirt and they continued until Barnes’ breathing even out and Steve knew the other man was asleep by the way the weight of his hand grew across his shoulder. 

*

Barnes was gone the next morning when Steve managed to peel his eyes open. The carriage stuffy in the mid-morning sun despite their locale and the time of year and once he realised the other man was gone, Steve threw back the stifling covers only to shiver when the air outside hit his skin. 

He drew a hand across the covers opposite him, frowning when he found them cool to touch. Barnes had obviously risen early but the fact that he had left without waking   
Steve was odd. 

However, Steve couldn’t pretend he wasn’t grateful for the reprieve in his friend’s company. The previous night seemed as though it had happened to another person and for a few long bleary moments, Steve lay staring at the ceiling of the carriage as he tried to piece together his reality. 

He didn’t know how he would face his friend after what had happened - what he’d heard, what he’d seen. Barnes was unaware - that he was sure of - but he doubted he would be able to meet Barnes’ eye. 

Steve sat up and rubbed the heels of his palms over his tired, aching eyes. He had barely slept and had only drifted off for a few hours in the early dawn. The rest of the night he had spent wide awake, overly aware of Barnes’ presence beside him and his mind wrestling with what the events of the evening meant and how he should react - or if he should react at all. 

When he rose, he found fresh water in the jug and bowl Barnes kept by the lavatory and the implication of it made Steve feel as though he were about to swallow his tongue. Worse still, the splash of frigid water on his face did little to relieve the warmth in his cheeks. 

Using the lavatory was worse. He was very aware that he stood almost exactly where Barnes had done the night before and he had to finish quickly before his traitorous body could react in the way that would make it nearly impossible to finish his morning’s ablutions.

Dressing made him feel more claustrophobic - more breathless - still. A heavier shirt and trousers than those he’d slept in were necessary to protect him from the chill creeping in beneath the carriage door but they felt rough and hot against his skin. Not so soft as the thread of the shirt Barnes had run his fingers over the night before and Steve hated them for that fact alone. He rolled his shoulders as the scratch of heavy linen washed away the ghost of Barnes’ touch, and frowned. 

He jumped then when a loud rapping on the side of the carriage startled him from his thoughts. He crossed the carriage and heaved the heavy door to the side, revealing Sam’s cheerful face and a gust of cold air. 

“Mornin’” his friend greeted, head craned back to meet Steve’s gaze as he stood by the lip of the open carriage. 

Steve felt his face heat anew. He’d not thought much on it in the past but now - given the events of the night before, Peter and Wade and then Barnes - to be found, only freshly dressed in Barnes’ carriage seemed to hold all sorts of implications. 

Sam seemed completely oblivious to Steve’s inner turmoil. 

“You’ll want to get a move on.” he continued. “I came looking for you when I saw your tent wasn’t up. I’ve got a moment now if you're finally up for the day.” 

Steve rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, sheepish. “You don’t have to do that, Sam.” 

Sam laughed. “You’ve forgotten it’s parade day, haven’t you?” he asked. 

Steve blinked. He had forgotten. The train had arrived in the smallest hours of that morning which meant - with no shows for the day - the parade through town would be at the top of the day’s agenda. 

Every man and his dog would be rushing to move animals and hoist wagons and pitch the tents of the traders and side shows. Barnes’ early departure suddenly made all the more sense as did, Steve reckoned, his unwillingness to wake Steve. By all accounts, Barnes would be a man to avoid today - what with the stress of moving the big cats. 

Sam must’ve seen the realisation break on Steve’s face. “You’ll certainly be short of volunteers.” he wagered. “Especially now breakfast’s done and every able man is up to his elbows in work. Come and I’ll help you set the tent now.”

Steve grateful smile dimmed as his stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. 

Sam laughed and then pursed his lips and let out a low, impressed whistle. “Jeez, it’s amazing you’ve even got an appetite after the amount of whiskey you and my woman put away last night. I swear the little woman is still a tad squiffy.” 

Steve shrugged and Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Here.” he muttered, digging a hand into his coat pocket. He drew out a small brown roll wrapped in a handkerchief that Steve sincerely hoped was clean. “I was saving this for me lunch but….” he trailed off as he tossed the roll to Steve. 

Steve barely managed to catch it, fumbling it between his hands before squashing it somewhat desperately to his stomach to stop it falling to the ground. 

“I can’t take your lunch.” he protested but the argument was ruined by another loud rumble from his stomach. 

“You get any thinner, we’re gonna lose you when you turn side on.” Sam joked but his voice was kind and Steve didn’t mind being teased by Sam. 

Steve tucked the roll into the pocket of his own trousers and eased himself down from the carriage. With Sam’s help, he hauled the door shut and they started off towards the already bustling lot. 

*

Setting the tent up took up the better part of what was left of the morning. Steve tried to send Sam away several times, worried that his friend would be in some kind of trouble for helping him when Steve was sure there were other, more important jobs to be down. 

“Will ya knock it off?” Sam finally said, exasperation clear in his tone and his expression. “I’m a roustabout. My job is to get the Lot ready for the rubes. Your tent -” at this he motioned dramatically to the tent they had spent all morning heaving to its full height. “Is part of the Lot and just as worthy of my time and sweat than any other here,   
alright?” 

Steve had no choice but to duck his head, feeling suitably chastised but more than a little pleased. 

“Thanks Sam.” he said. 

Sam huffed, apparently embarrassed then by his outburst. “Yeah, well, don’t mention it.” 

Steve opened his mouth to reply but was cut off when the continuous buzz of activity around them was drowned out by the sound of angry voices from just outside the tent. 

“ - Ringling have got twelve big cats and a hippotomus. Ain’t no rube going to waste their green on us if we don’t up the stakes -“

Steve did not have time to place the voice before it was silenced by another, more familiar one. 

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t -” said Barnes angrily. 

“Oh, you know.” assured the first voice. It was softer now but more threatening. “I’m just not sure you care. We lose the crowds and we lose the money. Do you remember how bad it got after Pierce?” 

When Barnes didn’t reply, Steve swung his eyes to Sam. The other man was watching the side of the tent where the voices seemed to be coming from. The look on his face made Steve’s stomach twist. 

It was obvious that the conversation was one that they were not meant to hear but in that moment Sam looked like a man standing on the side of the railway tracks, watching two trains barreling down the line at one another - doomed to watch the carnage of them destroy each other when they finally collided. 

“Then, I don’t suppose you would.” the first voice sneered and Steve felt the back of his neck prickle, a wholly unpleasant sensation borne of the malice in the unknown person’s voice.

“Tell me, Barnes, did you rob him after you slit his throat?” 

Steve’s blood ran cold. He knew other people knew. He knew that Sam knew. He knew that Barnes’ past was one of the reasons the other man was ostracised by so many of the crew and by some of the other performers. But Steve had never heard anyone besides Sam speak of it, especially to Barnes’ face - despite the whispers that seemed to follow him constantly. 

“Did you rob him or did you already have enough from him paying you to f—”

The voice was silenced by the sickening, unmistakably violent sound of flesh across flesh. Steve was dimly aware of Sam sprinting from the tent but found his own legs refused to cooperate for several long moments, frozen as he was from a heady mixture of disgust and fury that seemed to burn white hot in his veins. His clenched fists trembled by his sides. 

A distressed shout of his name drew him back to the present and he followed Sam’s path from the tent. As he rounded the corner, he was met with the sight of Sam’s back, his muscles across his shoulders and neck straining as he held back Barnes with Dum Dum’s help

Barnes seemed hell bent on being free of them, trying to claw his way over Dum Dum - who stood in front of him - despite the fact that Sam held him back with his arms twisted around Barnes’ shoulders from beneath his arm pits. 

The way Barnes was forced to struggle in such bind would have almost been comical if it weren’t for the expression on his face. 

He looked murderous - as if all he wanted was to free himself of the men holding him back so that he might have the pleasure of tearing Tony’s flesh from his bones. 

“You sonofa’bitch!” Tony was yelling from where he too was being restrained. “You broke my fuckin’ nose!” 

Steve did not doubt it as the lower half of Tony’s face was already painted with blood, the heavy flow of it seeping from his decidedly misshapen nose and across the shoulder of one of the men that was holding him back.

The only reply Barnes offered was to rally harder against the men holding him back. 

“Steve!” Sam shouted and Steve watched hopelessly as the grip Sam had on Barnes slipped when the seams of the other man’s shirt began to give way. “Get him!” 

Steve threw himself forward, seeking only to block Barnes’ path to Tony and without considering his friend was almost a foot taller than him and had a considerable weight advantage. He dug his heels into the dirt and threw his hands up against Barnes’ chest. Barnes didn’t even seem to notice. 

“Bucky!” he cried out, hoping to draw Barnes’ savage focus away from Tony. 

“Rhodey’s dead because of you!” Tony shouted from behind Steve, muffled as though someone was trying to smother him. “He’s dead because of you!” 

The words made no sense to Steve but all at once the fight seemed to leave Barnes and he went slack so suddenly that Sam stumbled under the combined weight of   
Barnes, Dum Dum and Steve. Steve fell to the ground with a painful thud as Barnes slipped back and lost his footing. Stars danced across Steve’s vision as his chin collided with something hard on the way down,

Someone had finally muffled Tony completely and while Steve could still hear him yelling, he could no longer make out what he said. He looked up to find Barnes watching him as Sam and Dum Dum hauled him up to stand, his expression pained. 

Steve could not help the pained hiss that escaped his lips as he used his grazed palms to push himself upright. When he inspected the damage, he found the cuts weren’t deep but they were bleeding and already crusted with a fair amount of sand and dirt. The left knee of his trousers was also torn through and Steve could feel the tell tale sting of another cut there as well. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and discover his lip was split as well. He made an agitated sound in the back of his throat.

“Steve.” Barnes said in a small voice but when Steve looked back to his friend, Barnes had already pulled free of the other men a disappeared around the corner of the tent. 

“Bucky!” Steve called and was relieved neither Sam or Dum Dum tried to stop him as he set off after the other man. 

“Bucky!” he called again when he rounded the corner and found Barnes already a fair way off, cutting a determined line through the general commotion of the Lot on parade day. 

Barnes made no indication of having heard him. 

Jogging pulled at the graze on Steve’s knee and he was sure he attracted more than a few strange looks as he hobbled after his friend. 

“Bucky!” 

Finally, Barnes turned and paused. Steve could not describe the expression on the other man’s face. It was one of sorrow and hurt but beneath that burned the residual fury that Barnes had aimed at Tony. A moment later, the expression was gone - replaced with an alarming blank stare. Steve remembered it from when they had first met. 

He did not think he had seen it since. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked as he closed the distance between them. 

Barnes’ face remained blank. “I’ve got places to be.” 

Steve felt his face contort with a confused frown. “What the hell, Buck?” he asked. “What -”

“Will you stop calling me that?” Barnes asked, his face animated suddenly with agitation. 

Steve flinched backwards. “But -”

“What do you want, Rogers? Some of us have things to do.” 

Steve felt his hackles rise. He didn’t understand why Barnes’ anger was suddenly directed towards him. He didn’t understand why Tony seemed to have it in for Barnes or why Barnes had given in so suddenly when the moment before he’d been spoiling for a fight. And who the hell was Rhodey?

He had thought Barnes had trusted him with the secrets of his past - just as Steve had trusted the other man - but obviously he’d been wrong. 

“Like breaking people’s noses, you mean?” he shot back. 

Barnes sneered and stepped forward, onto the boundary of Steve’s personal space. 

“You got no idea.” he said quietly and Steve was suddenly aware that they had drawn a small crowd. “You got no idea, Rogers. So just fuckin’ drop it, alright?”   
Steve blinked, surprised by the curse and the low, dangerous quality of Barnes’ tone. 

“Oh yeah?” he asked but even he did not miss the way his voice trembled. 

“Yeah.” Barnes sneered. “You got no idea about how this goes. You don’t belong here. You don’t have an act, you don’t have a turn. You and I shouldn’t even be friends. We’re not even in the same league. It ain’t as though your scribbles are feeding half the damn train.” 

Steve stepped back, hurt. Instantly he knew that he would have preferred for Barnes to hit him - to take whatever insidious feeling was driving him to this and take it out on Steve physically. Steve could deal with that, he could cope with that. What he could not cope with was the slow way the pain of Barnes’ words spread from the centre of his chest, moving through his veins as though the blood in them was freezing over, inch by inch. 

It was hurt like he had not felt since he left home - since the last time his father had avoided his gaze. Now, the thawing process - that had begun when Barnes genuinely smiled at him for the first time - was undone in the long, drawn out moments that the other man stood and watched the impact of his words settle over Steve and bury   
under his skin. 

He watched as the harsh expression on Barnes’ face broke and fell away, replaced with one of concern of regret and Steve wondered at how - for that one horrible moment - it was as though his friend had been taken away and replaced, only to be returned again once the damage was done. 

“Steve?” Barnes asked but it sounded like his voice was coming from underwater or from a tremendous distance away. 

He took a step forward when Steve did not reply. 

Steve took a step back, and then another when his knees shook and threatened to give out beneath him. 

Barnes’ right arm flinched as though he might reach forward for Steve and Steve put another two steps between them so that the distance was too great for Barnes to touch him. He felt as though he might crumble away under the touch of Barnes’ hand. 

Another step backwards and his back came into contact with someone else. He looked over his shoulder and caught sight of Sam, his expression grim.

“Steve.” Sam said and the softness - the pity - in his voice made Steve’s stomach roll. 

He had been a fool to flout all the other man’s warnings - to ignore Sam when he had tried to warn him away from Barnes. The other man - Steve noticed - continued to advance on him, slow and cautious, as though Steve were one of the big cats, cornered and dangerous.   
In that moment, Steve wished he was. 

He wished he had the power to lash out. He wished he had claws sharp enough to shred through the uncertainty Barnes had cast over him, to claw out that hidden part of Barnes that had made him speak to Steve like a stranger - like an enemy. He wished he had the physical presence to command respect, the power behind his limbs to make people wary - enough to make sure none ever looked at him with pity in their eyes again. 

He was tired of being made to feel small. 

He was tired of being made to feel powerless. 

He was tired of being made to feel that way by the people he loved. 

And with that thought flayed across his mind, he turned on a dime and ran. 

*

He ran until he reached the train. He had not been stopped so he knew neither Sam nor Barnes had given chase - though he did not know whether to feel relieved or dismayed about it. 

Late in the day as it was, there were still a number of roustabouts at the train, unloading gear and the last of the animals - those that went straight to the menagerie   
instead of on parade. A few of the working men threw Steve furtive glances as he went by, clearly confused by what he was doing so far down the line.

Their eyes on him felt like intense sun, intense enough to blister skin and Steve hunched his shoulders against their questioning gazes, willing himself invisible. He ducked between two carriages, swooping under the link and pin in the hope that he might conceal himself on the far side of the train. 

He stumbled on the sloped side of the tracks, the stones giving way under his feet, and rather than fight it - he slid to his knees, hissing when the gravel pressed against the grazes on his palms and then choking out a sob when his breath caught in his lungs. 

“Oh, Steve.” said a voice from behind him and Steve turned, eyes wet, to find Peggy watching him from between the carriage. 

“I think you’d best come with me.” she said and Steve could not find the strength within in to argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for the delay. I am endeavouring to ensure future updates are carried out in a more timely manner. However, if that is not the case, please come prod me on [Tumblr.](http://fat-hippie.tumblr.com//)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve didn’t realise that he was crying again until Peggy dabbed at his cheeks with her kerchief. The corner of it brushed the split in his lip and he jerked back, away from the sting. 
> 
> Peggy was watching him closely, concern etched into the delicate lines of her face. 
> 
> “I don’t know what to do.” he admitted. 
> 
> “Yes, you do.” Peggy told him. “Just love him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot apologise enough for how long this update has taken me. Thank-you to those of you that are still reading and following this story. Updates will not be so few and far between from now on.

Peggy’s carriage was a thing of wonder. It was smaller than Barnes’ - a single carriage, composed of a boudoir and small lavatory - but somehow, it was cozy rather than cramped and sumptuous rather than cluttered. 

Peggy had decorated with large swaths of material that hung from the roof and while, Steve supposed, it served the practical function of keeping out the wind, it also ensured that stepping into Peggy’s carriage was like stepping into some sort of dream - away from the dust and dirt and stench of the Lot. 

Steve felt too dirty to be allowed inside and sat perched on the very end of Peggy’s chaise lounge when she told him to sit, worried the grime on his pants would dirty it. 

Peggy said nothing as she collected a small swath of towelling from the lavatory and then filled a small bowl with hot water from the kettle resting a top the pot bellied stove in the corner. Steve tried not to sniffle, more ashamed of his tears now that there was no noise from the busy Lot to drown them out. 

He was surreptitiously trying to wipe his eyes on his sleeve when Peggy turned and caught him. 

“Oh, lamb.” she murmured, her face soft with kindness. “You’ve had a day already and it’s barely gone noon.” 

Steve huffed and dropped his gaze to his lap, worried that if he looked at her for a second more, he’d burst into tears once more. 

When they had first met, Peggy had unerringly guessed his age - had known he was just sixteen and barely ready to be braving the world on his own. She still made him feel like that - as though all his secrets were laid bare, painted on his skin and as easy to read as the words on the page of a book. 

Except now, she was kind and playful where she had once been brash. She had warmed to Steve - taken him under her wing in a way that made Steve thankful each and every day. Besides Barnes and Sam, he supposed she had become one of his closest friends. 

He was still lost in his musings when she folded herself gracefully to her knees in front of him, the soft rug that was strewn across the carriage floor protecting her stockings from the wood. 

“Hand.” she demanded, taking his right wrist in her hand and easing it from his lap. 

Steve could not help the hiss that escaped between his teeth when she pressed the warm damp towelling to the abrasion on the heel of his palm. 

“Shh.” Peggy murmured. “It’ll be okay.” 

Steve choked on a fresh wave of emotion, cloying and hot in the back of his throat. In that moment, he could not see how anything would be okay. Whatever he and Barnes had been working towards seemed to be in ruins, torn apart by Barnes’ sharp tongue and Steve’s own insecurities. He didn’t know where he was to sleep - not when Barnes wanted him gone and Darcy had moved into his and Sam’s carriage - and his hands were a mess, which meant he’d be lucky to turn any coin that evening despite the influx of trade following the parade. 

“Steve.” Peggy said gently and waited until Steve raised his head to meet her eye. 

She soothed the tears on his cheeks away with her thumb, using the other hand to keep the warm towel pressed to the worst of the cuts on Steve’s right palm. 

“It will be okay.” she said again. 

Steve shook his head, feeling done in by the weight of the hopelessness settling over his shoulders. 

“He hates me.” he said, feeling as small as his voice sounded. 

Peggy made an unhappy noise in her throat. 

“That boy loves you.” she said with a certainty that made Steve sit up a little straighter. 

He did not think he would ever get used to people speaking so freely about two men loving each other - not when he knew it was wrong, when he knew it was a sin. His cheeks burned and he ducked his head to avoid the intensity of Peggy’s gaze. 

She rinsed the piece of towelling and began to dab at the graze on his hand, working - Steve supposed - to clear out the dirt and gravel embedded in his skin. 

“He does.” Peggy continued. “But he just can’t get out of his own way.” 

She made another unhappy noise and Steve echoed it with a pained grunt when she worked lose a particularly stubborn stone. 

“Did you know that I’ve been with the show almost as long as Barnes?” Peggy asked then.

Steve looked up in surprise. 

Peggy nodded. “After my mother died - God rest her soul - father came to the show looking for work. It wasn’t ideal - keeping a daughter in the roustabout carriages but for the most part, the men were well behaved and when I got a little older, I bunked in with the girls who helped Frigga in the kitchen.” 

Steve hissed again when Peggy moved her attentions to his left hand. 

“A few years on and Father took up with one of the women performers - quite the scandal. Especially because she was a performer and he was a roustabout but you only had to look at them to know they’d found something special.” 

“What did she do?” Steve found himself asking. 

Peggy’s ruby red lips quirked to the side. “She worked in the hooch tent.”

Steve blinked and Peggy laughed, apparently delighted by the expression of shock that bloomed across Steve’s face. 

“I didn’t realise, of course. Not when I was young. But when my father was injured - ”

“What happened to your father?” Steve asked in a rush before realising how insensitive the question was. 

Peggy’s mouth thinned into a serious line. “A road carriage slipped and his leg got pinned between it and another. He survived for a few weeks but the infection killed him in the end.” 

Steve’s ached with the desire to hug Peggy, but she still hand hold of his left hand and his right was still uncovered and raw. 

“Oh Peggy.” he said instead. “I’m so sorry.” 

Peggy gave a shaky smile. “Don’t be. Ancient history. But thank-you. Father would have liked you, I think.”

She sniffed delicately and bent her head to focus back on Steve’s wounds. When she spoke again, her voice was steady. 

“Anyway, after father passed, Annie taught me everything she knew about burlesque.”

She chuckled then. “Oh Steve, you should have seen me then. All elbows and knees - not a graceful bone in my body. But she had the patience of a saint, that woman.” 

She finished cleaning Steve’s left hand and sat it palm up on his knee. 

“We’ll let those air for a bit while I look at your knee.” she said. “Then I’ll wrap them. You’ll draw tonight yet, don’t you worry.” 

Steve wanted to protest - to say she had already done enough and that really, he could manage himself - but he had a feeling that Peggy wouldn’t stand for it. Instead, he sat as he was told and watched as Peggy stood and changed the dirty water for a fresh bowl. 

“The point is,” she began as she refilled the kettle. “I have known Barnes since we were both scrawny little things - not that he was ever scrawny, he’s always been beautiful - and I know him better than he would perhaps care to admit.” 

She came back to stand in front of Steve once more, casting a critical eye over the tear in the knee of his trousers. It was a clean enough tear, one that Steve would easily be able to sew if his hands were not cut to ribbons. 

“Right.” Peggy said finitely. She set the fresh bowl of water and towel down on her bedside table. “Trousers off.” 

Steve almost choked. “What?” he asked, flushing. 

Peggy smirked the same wicked grin she always did when she managed to shock him. “I need to clean the graze on your knee - and probably mend that hole in your trousers - and I can’t do either while you’ve still got them on. So - off!” 

Steve looked at her, and then at his hands, and then at his belt buckle. Peggy sensed the dilemma. 

“Stand up.” she said and Steve eased himself onto shaking legs. 

He turned his head to the side when Peggy stepped close, her hands reaching for his belt. As her delicate fingers slid the leather free of itself, Steve’s face grew so hot that he felt that his flesh may melt from his bones. Thankfully, it seemed his embarrassment worked wonders to dissuade any other sort of reaction that a fella might have when a beautiful woman undid his trousers. 

Peggy let Steve’s trousers fall to the ground and then knelt again to untie his shoelaces easing his feet free so that he could step out of his trousers. 

“Peggy.” he managed, sitting down suddenly when his knees trembled beneath him. “This is too much.” 

“Nonsense.” Peggy countered. “God knows you could do with a little looking after. Especially with the morning you’ve had.” 

Steve gnawed at his bottom lip as Peggy folded his trousers and lay them on the bed beside him. He wanted desperately to ask if Peggy had witnessed Barnes’ and Tony’s confrontation or if she’d only witnessed what came afterwards. He wanted to ask her who Rhodey was and if Barnes really was responsible for his death. 

Peggy, it seemed, could read his thoughts. “You needn’t worry about what Tony said. There’s not an ounce of truth too it - just the irrationality of grief.” 

She finished cleaning Steve’s knee and began to dry it with a fresh cloth. 

“How much do you know about Pierce, Steve?” she asked after a long moment. 

Steve held his breath. Too much, he wanted to say. He knew about what the man had done to Barnes and the way that he had run the show. He knew about the red lighting. But he did not wanted to give away any secrets that he felt were not his to share. 

“Do you know about what Pierce did to Barnes?” Peggy asked and Steve’s breath left him in a whoosh. 

He nodded, grateful for the delicate way Peggy chose her words. 

Peggy had stopped her work and was watching Steve with a careful, guarded expression. “So did everyone else.” she said softly and the words felt like an anvil on Steve’s chest. 

“Everyone knew?” he choked out.

Peggy nodded. “It went on for years.” 

“Why didn’t anybody do anything?” Steve demanded, suddenly furious. 

If everyone had known, why hadn’t anyone tried to rescue Barnes? Why hadn’t they tried to stop Pierce? Peggy silence betrayed the horrible truth - that there was no answer. That there was no reason beyond people’s own fear of Pierce and their desire to save their own neck’s. 

“Annie only told me later.” Peggy admitted and Steve’s anger abated slightly when he realised Peggy had assumed it was directed at her. 

“But the word around the Lot was that Barnes kept Pierce happy and if Pierce was happy …” She trailed off as realisation, cold and nauseating, settle over Steve. 

“So he was the sacrificial lamb?” he asked, his blood cold in his veins. 

Peggy nodded slowly. 

“Rhodey was red-lighted just before Barnes killed Pierce.” she explained. “No one can work out if Tony is mad because Barnes had started fighting back or because he didn’t fight back soon enough. I don’t think he knows himself.” 

Steve felt hollowed out and he let out a shaky breath as he tried once more to reconcile what he had been told about his friend with the man he knew Barnes to be.  
Peggy’s hand on his uninjured knee brought him back to reality. 

“Barnes pushes people away because he feels guilty. I found him - afterwards. Bleeding and covered in Pierce’s blood. It was like he was in some sort of trance. He kept babbling about the people he’d let down - about how he should have been stronger and how he could have saved them. I think he still carries that guilt around with him.” 

Steve swallowed the lump that was growing in his throat. “I didn’t know.” he managed to say. “I had no idea.” 

Barnes’ behaviour - while inexcusable - began to make sense. He had pushed Steve away because Steve had gotten too close and perhaps knew too much. Barnes had told Steve the truth about Pierce after Steve had told him about why he’d left home - an even trade. From Barnes’ point of view, they were both - Steve saw now - broken things, fitting together because of the pieces that had been taken from them. 

But now, Barnes was worried that Steve would find out the whole truth - that he had bartered himself off to Pierce for years - and would despise him for it. A memory from the night Barnes had told him about Pierce came raging to the forefront of Steve’s mind. 

_“You think I killed him because he was red-lighting people?” Barnes had said, wild in his anger. “You don’t know shit.”_

He hadn’t killed Pierce for red-lighting people. Steve doubted now if Barnes had meant to kill Pierce at all.

Barnes had been trying to stop him, yes, but he’d bartered with the only chip he had available - himself. He’d known that killing Pierce would mean worse things for the Show. Less money, possible homelessness for the roustabouts and acts that didn’t get picked up by another circus. Barnes hadn’t had any other choice but to placate the other man in the only way he’d known how until he couldn’t bare it anymore. And still he thought he’d let them all down. 

Steve didn’t realise that he was crying again until Peggy dabbed at his cheeks with her kerchief. The corner of it brushed the split in his lip and he jerked back, away from the sting. 

Peggy was watching him closely, concern etched into the delicate lines of her face. 

“I don’t know what to do.” he admitted. 

“Yes, you do.” Peggy told him. “Just love him.” 

*

Steve was back to his tent by the time the parade rolled into the Lot. Through the dust, Steve watched the slow glide of the big cat’s road carriage as it lead the throngs of rubes through the dusk and into the bright lights of the Lot. He fancied that he could make out the line of Barnes’ shoulders atop the carriage, stiff and straight. He watched until the carriage pulled in behind the Big Top and disappeared. 

He had left the tent open, all of his sketches on display. Sam had promised to drop by as soon as his parade duties were done and keep an eye on the rubes while Steve drew. But Steve could barely bring himself to care about the potential loss of his sketches. They seemed so insignificant compared to the events of the day. He ached to sprint across the Lot - his ruddy lungs be damned - and find Barnes. He wanted to explain that he knew everything and that he didn’t think less of Barnes for it - on the contrary, he wanted to tell Barnes that Steve thought he was the bravest man he had ever known. 

Steve’s cheeks heated at the thought and he jumped almost a mile into the air when someone behind him coughed. 

“These yours?” The rube said, waving his hat from side to side in a vain attempt to clear some of the dust from it. 

He inclined his chin towards the sketches Steve had displayed across the front of his tent, each displaying the approximate price of a similar sketch. 

“They are.” Steve replied. “Can I help you with something in particular?” 

The man nodded. “I’d like a portrait done. For my sweetheart.” 

Steve threw one more longing look towards the big top and then motioned for the man to take a seat before opening to a fresh page in his sketch book.

It took a few long minutes to settle into feel of the pencil in his hand and the pressure of it against the paper. He was lucky, he supposed, that the man he was drawing was a decent model - not too fidgety or chatty - and that Sam turned up before the larger part of the crowd reached Steve’s end of the Lot. 

Sam helped out the few customers who were interested in some of the act sketches displayed inside the tent which left Steve to try and get the man’s likeness as perfect as it could be. It was always difficult, he mussed as he filled in the shadows underneath the man’s collar, drawing someone that you did not know well. It was difficult to get the lines of their face right when you did not know the way it could change and shift with each nuance of expression; each stretch of a smile, each curl of a frown. 

Furthermore, the sting of the cuts on his hands did little to make his plight any easier. Steve supposed he was just lucky the split in his lip had stopped bleeding. He doubted that anyone would want their picture drawn by someone who looked like he just been in a bar fight. The knock to his chin had also began to throb and he wagered that, by the morning, he would have a humdinger of a bruise there too. 

Despite Steve’s grievances, the man seemed pleased with the finished portrait. 

“That’s swell, that is.” he said graciously and reached into the pocket of his trousers. “What do I owe you?” he asked Steve, finishing out a couple of coins and a half smoked cigar. 

Steve’s eyes caught on the cigar. The worn butt looked very similar to the type Barnes’ enjoyed and his mind reeled with the beginnings of a plan. 

“Got anymore of those cigars?” he asked the rube who looked momentarily taken aback but soon nodded.

He then fished two cigars from his breast pocket and held them out for Steve to inspect. 

“Both for the portrait?” Steve asked and the man nodded. 

“They’re not anything of quality.” he observed, handing the cigars over and taking his sketch in return. “I fear you’re getting a rotten deal.”

Steve shook his head, his heart already a little lighter for the plan formulating in his head. “No,” he said. “They’re just what I need.” 

*

It took another hour or so until the crowd began to thin and by the time Sam helped him pack up the remaining sketches and lace up the tent, Steve was wound so tight that he felt like his bones were vibrating beneath his skin. Sam watched him with an uneasy expression. 

“Steve,” he said finally. “What happened with Barnes earlier, well - you know you always got a place with me.” 

Steve paused, his hands still curled around the tent lacings. He found that he could not bring himself to look at his friend, embarrassed as he always was - it seemed - to talk about Barnes with anyone who seemed to know how Steve felt about the other man and by the level of sincerity in his friend’s voice. 

“Thanks.” he mumbled. “I appreciate that.” 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam nod. 

“He won’t be any sort of company tonight anyway.” the other man said and Steve turned then, curious. 

Sam saw his expression and shrugged. “He and Fury were having it out behind the Top when I made my way over here.” he explained. “Seems Fury didn’t take to kindly to the hooey this afternoon.” 

“That wasn't Bucky’s fault!” Steve protested and while Sam arched an eyebrow at the nickname, he said nothing of it. 

“Says you.” he retorted. “Stark’s got a broken nose and a helluva bee in his bonnet and it’s just drama the boss man doesn’t need.” 

Steve wanted to tell Sam everything that Peggy had told him, wanted to set his friend straight but a deep treacherous part of him doubted if Sam would even listen when the other man had so often seemed to have it in for Barnes. Instead, he bit his tongue and seethed, thanking Sam curtly when they were done. 

He ignored his friend’s expression and the pointed call of his name, turning on his heel to start across the Lot. Barnes, he reasoned, would still be watering down the horses from the parade and Steve would have a captive audience so that he could say his piece. Barnes wouldn’t be able to eave until the horses were watered, brushed and fed and he would have to listen to what Steve had to say.

Steve squared his shoulders and his stride found new purpose in the knowledge that soon enough, he and Barnes would be set right. But when rounded the wide curve of the Big Top, picking his way between the numerous road carriages, Barnes was nowhere to be found. 

Instead, a roustabout was brushing down the horses, whistling as he worked in the dusk light. 

“Where’s Barnes?” he asked brusquely.

The roustabout shrugged, seeming to take no notice of the absence of Steve’s manners. He was not a man that Steve knew but he moved around the horses with practiced ease. “Can’t be saying.” he said. “He was in a rush to get away, that’s for sure.”

He finished brushing down the horses flank, smoothing the path with a sure hand. He moved to the next horse while Steve muddled through the shock of finding Barnes gone. 

“Did he say where he was going?” Steve managed finally, his mind reeling in an effort to keep up with the new information and reformulate his plan. 

Maybe Barnes had simply gone back to his trailer. It would be harder, Steve thought, to get Barnes to hear him out if the other man refused to let him in. But he’d stand outside and shout what he had to say in front of the whole Lot if that’s what it came to. 

The roustabout shook his head blithely, taking a moment to settle the horse in front of him before beginning to move its bridle. 

“He set off in the direction of the gate.” he told Steve then. “With a look in his eye said he was spoiling for a drink or a fight - whatever he found first.” 

Steve spun around to look back towards the gate top the Lot. He could only just make it out in the glow thrown from the lights of the Big Top. If Barnes had gone off-Lot, there was a snowball’s chance in hell of Steve finding him.

Dejected, Steve left the other man and headed back towards the line of carriages in the distance, his stomach a hollow pit of worry and his heart heavy in his chest.


End file.
